What is Left of Us
by kurupira
Summary: As Riza Hawkeye helps Amestris recover from the events of The Conquerors of Shamballa, she allows her mind to drift back into her past, where she was young and not expected to be a heartless soldier. Rated between a T and an M for non-explicitly talking about M stuff.
1. Black, the Grief

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or gain any profit from this fanfic other than writing practice and improved self-esteem ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ**

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**Following the events of The Conquerors of Shamballa**

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**Chapter One:  
****Black, the Grief**

**sometimes things go so wrong the world turns black.  
it is only then that you may consider yourself struck by grief.**

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"They're gone."

Roy Mustang looked at the now asleep transmutation circle and frowned. "They're gone."

Central City was enveloped by a sorrowful silence. Night was lurking in, the sky painted by an orangish yellow. All around, buildings and crumbled and blood stained the floor, emitting a dark aura. "They're gone". He repeated again, standing up.

For many, the boys who had disappeared forever were just two soldiers like any other. For them, their 'death' was as normal as it would be if a normal soldier died. They were just there to fight against the Germans, protect Amestris. For some, they were two boys that had changed the country. Two boys that had a goal, and they were happy for them. They were now living together, and the younger one had his body back. Everything had worked out fine, right?

_Right_?

While it may look like that, the few that really knew the boys didn't think so. Everything had gone wrong. Not for the boys, obviously, but for them. They were now engulfed in grief and doubt, blaming themselves for everything that had happened. They weren't even sure if the boys had got to the other side safely, and that only made things worse. For Roy Mustang, things were no different. He suddenly found himself in a situation where he was lost in the dark, with nowhere to go. His only sources of light — that being the boys and his long lost friend — were gone from his life.

When that day started, he walked into the cold snowstorm the North had to offer and stood there, waiting for Edward. By noon, however, he was fighting alongside his subordinate, and for that moment he felt truly hopeful. After two years of waiting, the boy returned, bringing hope and joy with him. But then again, isn't that what Edward always did? Wherever he went, he always seemed to bring luck with him, no matter the situation. Mustang felt as if Equivalent Exchange was actually a thing, and as if he was finally paid back for those years of suffering.

Yes, he suffered. He suffered more than anyone. Being the man he was, he waited for him in pure shame and guilt. Not only couldn't he get himself to snap his gloved fingers anymore, but he also couldn't even look into the eyes of his own bodyguard, Riza Hawkeye. It's quite ironic to think that, when he needed her the most, she also couldn't face him due to his new, gloomy personality. Their goodbye wasn't even a proper one: all he did was leave. He boarded the train to the North, telling only Havoc were he was going, and told him to forget about him and keep his location a secret.

When the news that the Colonel had 'mysteriously disappeared' arrived at Riza, she was frightened, but whenever someone offered her the opportunity to be in one of the search teams, she would simply decline and that would be it. If he needed time to reflect, she would give it to him. Her presence would only make him worse, just like it had been in Ishval. She knew he would return when he was ready.

For those two years, while he waited for Edward, she waited for him. She went to his house, cleaned it, bought him groceries, and dusted his clothes. That until he couldn't afford to pay his rent anymore and the house was put on sale. She then started waiting for him at the station, every day before and after work. She would wake up earlier than usual, cook him breakfast, go to the platform and wait. When it was time for her to go, she would leave the food behind with a note, then get him some fresh food from the mess during her lunch break and wait for him again. At night, when the last four trains arrived for the day, she would make him dinner, and if he didn't show up, she would take the pile of boxes with food back home and sigh, only to repeat her actions on the next day.

Riza knew it was wrong. She knew she was wasting her money with food for someone who didn't want to see her anymore. To be honest, she wasn't even sure if he was alive. All she knew was that he disappeared one day, nothing more and nothing less. Maybe the only reason she waited for him and brought him food was to convince herself that he would return. She missed him, even though she never admitted it. She regretted avoiding him on their last days together.

Maybe if she hadn't done that, he would still be there. Maybe she could have helped him get over what had happened. But she ran away like a coward, and now she no longer had a lazy Colonel to scold because he didn't do his paperwork. She no longer had a man to call her at dawn asking her to drive him home from a bar because he had drunk too much. She no longer had a friend that was always there for her, when she needed help the most. Now she only had his ghostly presence, haunting his desk. No one sat there anymore; Havoc and the others requested to leave that desk reserved for when he returned. That is, if he returned.

Riza was mad at him. She was mad at him for making her worry like that. She was mad at him for making her wait for so long. But she was also mad at herself. She wasn't there for the brothers when they needed it, and she wasn't even there for her superior when he needed it. She wasn't able to keep her only promise: to protect him with her life. Everything seemed to be her fault. While everyone was fighting she was just running around, wondering which battle to join. But why? It's not like she would have a brighter future awaiting her if she stained her hands with blood again and experienced more of this hell called reality. Edward and Alphonse already proved that Equivalent Exchange wasn't a thing. They lost their limbs and bodies for nothing, and now Riza had lost the Colonel and the Elrics for nothing. Absolutely nothing.

What she would do if he returned? She wasn't sure. In fact, she had no idea. She wouldn't just salute him casually, that would be too hard for her to do after waiting for him for years. Truth be told, she would probably burst into tears the moment he stepped out of the train, and have to blend into the crowd in embarrassment before regaining her composure and talking to him. Would she actually give him the food? What if he arrived when she wasn't there and didn't see the food and note? Was he already back in the city? Maybe going in dates like he always did, and using the fact that he had disappeared to the country to not go to work. If he was doing that and Riza found out, he would get shot right on that good eye of his and he wouldn't be able to go on dates anymore.

The problem would be that he wouldn't be able to sign his paperwork either, so she would probably avoid shooting it.

After two long years of waiting, he finally returned to her. She was slightly disappointed for not being the first one to see him and announce his return, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he was back. He was safe and strong, using his power for the good of the country. Riza felt uncomfortable, shooting the targets from the shadows while he paraded in front of the enemy, snapping at them while showing off his good looks and new eyepatch. It was almost as if she was showing all of the insecurities she had gained in the Ishvallan War of Extermination, while he hid his behind his performance.

He stopped the enemy fire and gave commands to his men. Riza was so relieved to know he was alive and well that she had to squint her tears away, but couldn't hold the urge to assure him that she had waited for him for all those years, and had not forgotten about him.

"We all waited for you," she explained, a soft smile gracing her lips. She didn't quite know how she was able to look at him after all that had happened. It almost felt as if it didn't happen, and this was just a normal field mission with Edward, Alphonse, and the other men. He briefly returned the smile and greeted her, then asked her to stay there and fight the coming wave of enemies with him. For what seemed to be the first time, she obeyed him without a word in protest. Even though, according to Havoc, he was no longer a Colonel and just an enlisted man, she still respected him as if he were a General, or maybe even the Fuhrer, the only times she wouldn't obey him being when he gave her an order that would make him risk his life. He had given her these types of orders several times before he defeated the former Fuhrer King Bradley, and the reason he lost his left eye was that she obeyed him and wasn't there to back him up during the battle. Since that day, she decided to only obey him if it wouldn't separate her from him. She is his bodyguard, after all.

The enemy started bringing airborne vehicles and Roy requested a balloon to take them down. The balloon was quickly prepared and he went in, creating hot air with alchemy. Riza was finally reunited with him, so it wasn't as if she would just let the man she was supposed to protect wander off alone in a hot air balloon when the sky was filled with warplanes. She dashed towards him but was a bit too late, and he slowly lifted into the atmosphere.

"Sorry, I only have power for one passenger!" He apologized, raising two fingers for whatever reason. Riza knew he was lying and was just worried about her, but Major Armstrong held her down when she tried to jump into the balloon.

"Colonel, you liar!" She shouted, trying to escape the man's grip. He had, however, already flown too high up to hear her, but kept his fingers up as if to repeat what he said last time. "Come back here, or I'll —" She was stopped by a bullet that scratched her shoulder ever so slightly, and noticed she still had work to do. She shrugged Armstrong off her, positioned her rifle and continued resisting, cringing slightly whenever she saw the cold blood leak out of the armors and into plain sight.

Riza kept pulling the trigger, well aware that, with her 99.5% accuracy, a soldier was going to die whenever she did so. She started remembering her experience in the Ishvallan War of Extermination again, and purposely slowed down her pace, intending to gain time while Edward took care of the mastermind behind them instead of eliminating them. They were, after all, just mere Germans that had no knowledge of alchemy whatsoever. They were only being used as weapons to defeat the Amestrian forces, ending up dying themselves instead.

They didn't really have salvation, however. If they stayed back in Germany, they would be forced into the Nazi's uprising and become mere puppets like the others. Wherever they tried to go, they would end up dead. That was the reality for all soldiers, including Riza and her beloved team.

Finally, after a lot of sweat and blood was poured, the Colonel returned. He was in a small capsule transmuted by one of the brothers from what Riza could see, and it crashed onto the already devastated streets of Central City. Riza dropped her weapon and rushed towards the sound, soon meeting up with Winry and Scieszka. The three women quickly scavenged through the wreckage, and Riza sighed in relief when she saw that the Colonel wasn't badly injured. She would make him pay for worrying her like that later. Not now, though. They still had to look for Edward and Alphonse.

"They aren't here," Roy muttered, answering the question poised in Winry's lips.

"What do you mean?" She questioned, clutching the suitcase that once held Edward's automail tighter.

"They went back. Fullmetal was going to go back alone to break the gate, but Alphonse begged to go with him, asking me to break the gate from this world."

"And you just let Al go?! In your mind, he's seventeen, but don't forget that he doesn't remember anything since he was ten! He has only a thirteen-year-old mind now, why did you let him go?!"

"So you would rather lock him in his world while Fullmetal is locked in the other one?"

"Locked?" Winry's legs started trembling and she felt strangely weak.

"The gate is the only path between both worlds. Breaking it means never opening it again," Roy clarified, taking a note from his inner pocket and handing it to her. "Fullmetal told me to give you this."

She took it but immediately ripped it up and threw the pieces onto the floor, squeezing them with her dirty boot. "I don't want it. That idiot is always risking his life for this country. This stupid letter doesn't mean anything to me."

"I imagined that would be your reaction, so I read the letter."

"I said I don't want to know!"

"He said he would miss you," Roy started, ignoring the fact that Winry wasn't hearing. She was covering her ears and screaming some gibberish. "He said he would miss you more than anything, and that, even though he always argued with you and said horrible things to you, he always loved you. He said that, if he could stay in this world, he would be more than happy to marry you. But he did what he did to protect you. Protect you, your grandmother, Private Sciezka, and everyone else."

Riza put an arm on his shoulder and shook her head, signalizing for him to stop. He looked up at Winry, who was now in tears.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, covering his face with his hand and gently rubbing his eye. "I'm sorry."

"No. I can't cry. Ed told me that the next time I cried would be out of happiness. I'm not crying because he is gone, I'm crying because Amestris is safe." There was a clearly fake smile plastered onto her face, and the shake on her voice didn't go unnoticed by anyone. "He will come back. I'm sure he'll find a way. He always does, doesn't he? That idiot. When he comes back, he will bring Al with him, and Al will have all of his memories back. They will visit you and Ms. Riza first, like they always did, and then they would go home to Resembool, and everything would go back to normal, right?"

Roy nodded, even though he knew they were gone forever.


	2. Blue, the Sorrow

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or gain any profit from this fanfic other than writing practice and improved self-esteem ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ**

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**Chapter Two:  
****Blue, the Sorrow**

**sometimes your tears paint the world blue.  
****it is only then that you may consider yourself sorrowful.**

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Doctors rushed around the city, accompanied by the weeping relatives of those injured. Though the battle had barely lasted a day, countless lives were lost and there was nothing anyone could do about it. It all started without a warning, and just the thought of the hopes and dreams buried within every victim disgusted Mustang.

Down in the underground city, sitting right next to him, was Winry, who was no different from the others. She was not physically maimed, but her soul had been cut by the sharpest of swords and her heart was shot by the strongest of bullets. She sat howling on the cold concrete that covered the underground city, covering her eyes with a wrist and a palm. It was a useless position, the tears were far too many to be stopped by her quivering hands, and no matter how hard she pressed the drops would find a way to squeeze out.

Her body was hunched forward, her elbows creasing the fabric of her pants and her knees being tinted by the decomposing paint they were laid upon. It was a truly horrifying sight. All at once, she shrieked and lamented and wailed, barely being able to catch her breath. She was in desperate need of help, but no one offered to do so. No one knew how they would be able to stop the tears from constantly rolling down her eyes. Not Roy. Not Riza. Not Sciezka. Not the remains of Wrath's automail arm. Obviously not the remains of wrath's automail arm, for it was the sight of it that caused the girl to break down.

She was able to stay strong and only weep softly all the way down to the city, but when she recognized the piece of the mechanism and didn't find the owner of it, her emotions took over and she found herself on her current state.

Riza couldn't look at her. She turned away the moment she broke down and covered her ears, her own throat swelling up with guilt. The cool air had suddenly warmed up with tension, the only sound being Winry's voice echoing through the ruins. It sounded so apologetic and grief-stricken, like a melody primarily composed by notes of pure sorrow, and would make anyone run away by fear of being caught up in its hypnotizing ringing.

Finally, Roy had enough of it. He stormed over to her and she shuffled away, almost losing her balance and falling onto her back, still singing the haunting tune but in a more frightened tone. He fisted her hair and tried to drag her down the devastated streets, but she gripped onto a block of rubble with one hand and dug her other nails into the floor, begging him to let her go and scratching the concrete with her bleeding fingers. Letting out a painful yell, Roy yanked her away and squatted down next to the girl, who was now smearing her face with her own blood. He carefully removed her hands from her cheeks, and when her foggy eyes met his, he was not able to remain in his furious persona.

"Your grandmother is waiting," he whispered after an apology, barely being heard over her cries and gently ruffling her hair where he had gripped it. "She'll help you."

He scanned the ruins, searching for Riza, but couldn't see her anywhere. Looking back at Winry, Roy removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders before standing up and calling for his Lieutenant. When he got no reply for the third time, dread took over and his legs decided they wanted to move on their own, taking him with them. He felt it was the right thing to do, as Winry was now in a tight embrace provided by Sciezka, so he obeyed his stubborn limbs, all the while calling out for her.

"Sir," Riza announced with a discrete sniff, meeting up with him at an intersection. He almost jumped back at the sudden appearance but sighed in relief soon after. Unfortunately, his limbs were still in control, so before he could process what was happening his arms wrapped around her body and pulled her close, so close they could barely breathe. She was firstly shocked by the sudden contact, but then relaxed and returned the gesture. "You're such a baby," she chuckled, resting her chin on his shoulders and closing her eyes. As she expected, his body started quivering and her shoulder was peppered by his tears, the water sinking through her jacket and dampening her shirt. "Such a baby," she repeated, the shake on her voice as clear as glass.

There was a brief moment of complete silence. Winry seemed to have calmed down, as not even her voice was heard. In contrast, the two soldiers were still firmly gripping each other, as if they would disappear in a sea of darkness should they let go. Roy sang his own quiet melody, trapped in this beautiful yet tragic moment. Unlike Winry's legato notes, however, his melody consisted of short, staccato gasps that kept escaping his lips without his consent.

"We need to go," Riza whispered reluctantly, breaking the peaceful silence. She immediately regretted saying that; she wished she could stay in Roy's weak arms forever. Much to her dislike, however, he nodded and pulled away, then smiled as he dabbed her damp cheeks with his gloved thumb, absorbing the tiny tears.

"You were crying?" He questioned, though the answer was clear. Without replying, Riza wiped her face with her jacket and started making her way back to where the others awaited. Like hypothesized, Winry was now asleep, her head resting on Sciezka's lap. The Private was brushing her hair with her delicate fingers, her own eyes red and swollen. Riza kneeled down and was about to shake the girl awake when Sciezka swatted her hand away. Hawkeye shot a quizzical look at her, rubbing her hand with the other one.

"You really want her to wake up here? Don't forget that this transmutation circle took the three boys she loved the most in one day," Sciezka pointed out, slipping her hands under Winry's arms and gently lifting her up. "She inhaled a lot of smoke, we should take her to the hospital for a quick check."

Riza, who was only as tall as a meter and sixty-five, didn't even bother offering to take her up the somewhat infinite staircase. Roy, in turn, was taller, so he leaned down to help the woman attach her to his back. Winry grunted in response but quickly got used to his hard torso, diving back into her hopefully happy dream. They started making their way up the stairs, leaving behind the city they wished they could send to another dimension.

While going up, Riza kept her mind fixed on Mustang's embrace. He felt warm against her, his quivering chin softly pecking her shoulder. She had never seen him show such affection towards her in public. Usually, Roy would only dare touch her both physically or emotionally after the common nightmares of Ishval, when he would wake up in a panic and call her. Most of the times, however, she would hear his yells from her apartment on the military building and knock on his door seconds later. He would unlock the door carefully, and only fully open it once he was sure it was Riza and Riza only. Of course, there was nothing she could do to help him sleep, so they would talk until morning about anything that could distract his mind from the extermination. Before she left to get ready for work, they would share one final embrace before parting ways, but even then he wouldn't dare cry on her shoulder.

That final embrace was usually a sorrowful yet thankful one. They knew it would be the last one for days, or maybe even weeks, but they were thankful both that Roy opened up and that Riza was there to help him.

Since Hughes' passing, Roy's mental health had rapidly declined, and she would often catch him drinking himself to oblivion after nightmares of his death. They weren't as common as the Ishval ones, but they struck him right through the heart and up towards his brain, giving control to his impulses and subconscious.

These nightmares were dangerous. He wouldn't let a sound come out of his mouth when he had one and would stumble towards a new whiskey bottle, quickly dumping it down his throat. How would Riza find out? Well, like any human being, he gets drunk, and a drunk Roy is easy to spot.

First, the phone would ring and she would groggily answer, thinking it was Rebecca to complain about a boyfriend. After a string of murmured curses left her mouth, he would finally start his terrible and confusing pick-up lines.

"Hey, darling, I feel so horny I could turn into a goat at any moment," he would mumble against the phone, then snicker and hung up, only to call her again and add another drunk statement.

"You dreamed, didn't you?" she would reply on the third call, already slipping on a coat and shoving her feet in her slippers, the phone pressed between her shoulder and ear.

"Honey, you honestly think I don't dream? I'm becoming the Bradley one day, don't forget. Yes, hot as Broadway boys..." She could swear he had puckered his lips and was brushing them against the phone as he spoke, and to make it grosser he would make chewing sounds and snicker afterward.

"I'm on my way."

"On your way to what? Wonderland?"

Just like that, she would hang up and sprint towards his apartment, fear knotting up in her chest as she thought of the image of him splayed across the floor just after Ishval, surrounded by pills and empty alcohol bottles. It had taken all of her will not to give up like he almost did, and now it was her duty to make sure he would continue living.

Nightmares of Ishval were common for both of them, and since they were well aware of that, they would immediately come in contact to talk, even if it was only to cry into the phone. That was usually Riza's case, for she wasn't nearly as good as him at controlling emotions.

Except in public, where she usually did an excellent job in keeping a poker face.

After each nightmare, which happened at least once every two weeks, she wouldn't wake up with a screech like the others usually would. She would wake up with tears in her eyes and biting her lip so hard it bled. She would quickly reach over to the phone and dial Roy's number, keeping her body curled into a ball under her sheets in fear of her ankle being gripped by one of the Ishvalans she had murdered. Maybe even all of them, she wasn't sure.

Her trembling arms would reach for the phone and squeeze it between her ear and the pillow, the deadly silence making her heart thump louder and louder. Often, she would shut her eyes and raise the blanket to cover her whole body, the sweat on her skin not being a valid excuse for her to uncover herself, nor the fact that Roy hadn't picked up. She knew he had probably woken up just in time for the telephone to stop ringing, and would return the call in a matter of seconds. Decidedly, Riza would quickly drop the phone back onto the receiver and wait, covering her ears to avoid the suffering voices echoing through her mind.

Then the shrilling of the phone would jolt her up, finally getting a short gasp to slip past her lips. The phone would sound for a long time, as she needed some to calm down her heart and organize her thoughts. Finally, she would pick it up and go back to her initial position, whispering a soft yet shaky 'hello.'

"Another one?" His deep, groggy voice was no louder than a whisper, and she knew he was worried by the way he puffed into the phone.

"Yes," she would reply.

"I'm listening, you can say whatever you want and omit whatever you want." And that would be it. Mid-way through her description she would burst into tears and he would just listen, doing his best not to mirror her condition. It was hard being on the receiving end of Riza's cries. She was a strong woman that was known for being a perfect example of a dog, yet there she was, completely out of control; completely human. That was a side of her that only Roy knew, and she liked it like that. It was a weak side that would take over her body just at the thought of the massacre, and she would have no option but to let it leave her in the form of tears and hiccups.

Depending on the time and how scared she was, Roy would go up to her apartment and use the spare key he kept with him for these occasions to come in. He knew she would jump as soon as his footsteps entered the residence, so he always made sure to rush to her bedroom before she grew too frightened. He would sit down on her bed and tell her a story, maybe about a drunk man he met at a bar or an old lady who wanted to hit on him. For that moment, Riza would feel like an innocent child for the only time in her life.


	3. White, the Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or gain any profit from this fanfic other than writing practice and improved self-esteem ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ**

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**Chapter Three:  
****White, the Prologue**

**every story has a start, when a writer can scribble her thoughts into a white world.  
****it is only then that a book truly starts; when the reader truly dives into the words.**

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The group finally reached the surface and Winry was woken up and put down. She drowsily scrambled to her feet but kept her hand on Mustang's arm for support as her blurred vision cleared out, her memories still slightly messy and confusing. Not long after, Hawkeye spotted a doctor and he quickly escorted the girl to a tent where other patients were being cared for. While she was being tested, Riza used the opportunity to check if her superior was okay. He was talking to a few other soldiers, probably about the damage and how to pay for it. Amestris wasn't in a great financial condition lately, so they would probably need help from other nations, which would be embarrassing for both the civilians and government officials.

Riza walked over to where the conversation was taking place and started listening carefully to develop her opinions. It was clear that she had no place in that group as a Lieutenant, but the fact that Corporal Mustang was sharing his ideas was equally interesting. As soon as Riza opened her mouth to suggest her ideas, however, a coat was hung onto her arm and the conversation resumed without her. Several times, she tried to speak over the men or in small intervals, only to be stopped again.

Soon, another coat was handed to her, followed by a 'thank you' that was thrown into her mouth and shoved down her throat. It was an interesting sight, really. Riza had ideas and everyone present knew she had a functioning brain, unlike a few superior officers and several soldiers. She wasn't sure if they were doing it on purpose or if it was just normal to assume that she would happily hold their coats since she was always carrying Roy's around, but it really got on her nerves that they didn't even ask for her thoughts.

Despite the fact that Hawkeye understood their point of view, what made her heart clench was that, even though some of the men probably wished, they were not Roy. They did not have the right to give her their coats, and much less without asking. She was Roy's bodyguard, not theirs. She was Roy's assistant, not theirs. She was Roy's Lieutenant, not theirs. Where in that tiny brain of theirs was the idea that she was a moving wardrobe? At least from her perspective, being a moving piece of research was already more than enough, and she always had the urge to smack that information onto their faces for them to stop treating her like an object.

Since her father tattooed her, Riza no longer had the right to call herself a child and was treated like a notebook. She couldn't wear bikinis, she couldn't have a boyfriend, she couldn't even make close friends because the man thought she would tell them. There was nothing she could do with her life, only stay at home like a miserable woman and cook and clean and wash. Her moments of relief were when she stepped into school, where she felt safe and free. Though she was quite lonely, it's not every child that has a permanent tattoo that covers her whole back, so the urge to boast about it was always whispering into her ear.

Then Roy came into her life.

It was a white and cold evening, maybe way too white and too cold. Her father had left like he usually did, probably to go to a laboratory or library, but reading in the dim light of her room was Riza, often smiling at the thought of Berthold getting caught in a snowstorm. A bad thought, may I say, because she was supposed to be an innocent thirteen-year-old, not a bloodthirsty demon.

Well, under her father's roof, anyone was easily turned into a bloodthirsty demon, so I guess it's not that bad of a thought.

When the doorbell rang, she grunted in disappointment and scrambled down the steps, already narrowing her eyes. Suddenly, the door looked big and intimidating, and she assumed it was also a bloodthirsty demon. Why exactly she couldn't make herself reach the doorknob was out of her understanding, but it was true that she had probably never touched it before. Her father was the one who usually opened it, and he always took a spare key with him, which meant…

"Go away, you filthy thief!" She screeched, poking her head out a nearby window. Standing outside was a bulky, black coat, with a young man inside it who held a suitcase with his thick gloves. He glanced at her with a bored look and lingered towards the hole on the wall.

"Hello, ma'am, as you can see, I am in desperate need of warmth," he recited, obviously practicing this sentence over and over again on his way to the cottage.

"Then find yourself a residence, this is not a hotel!" Riza banged the window shut but kept the curtains to make sure he would leave.

He did not. He just stared at her, his eyes half-closed and his eyebrows trying to pull the lids up. She didn't leave either. She glared back, crossing her arms in front of her chest and tapping her foot. They stared for what seemed like hours (keyword: seemed) until the man finally put his suitcase down and slid a hand into his pocket, pulling a tiny piece of paper out. Laboriously, he unfolded the paper with his big fingers and squinted at it, glancing at Riza every once in a while. He put the paper down and rubbed his hands together, then pressed his right index finger against the windowpane. Slowly, his finger danced around the glass, sketching letters onto it. When he was done, he knocked twice on the window to get her attention and pointed at the writing.

'_Hawkeye?_' It said, a few characters written incorrectly since he tried to letter it rightly from Riza's point of view, not his. She shrugged, but nothing was said. Frowning, the man walked away, his ankles sinking into the snow. Riza watched, satisfied, until she noticed he looked just like the visitor her father had mentioned earlier. Before she knew it, she had haphazardly jumped out the window, kissing the snow layered on the porch.

Her face burned. Her arms burned. Everything burned beneath her as if she was swimming on lava. Due to the warmth of her house, Riza was wearing only her nightgown and a thin coat, and that certainly wasn't enough when exposed to all the snow awaiting her. In one quick motion, she stood back up, wrapping her arms around the body and roughly rubbing her elbows. "Hello?! Sir?!" She called, trying to stop her teeth from quivering. "Sir?!"

"Not Sir, Roy. My name is Roy," he corrected, waving the back of his hand at her. "I'm looking for Mr. Berthold Hawkeye, so I'll just return tomorrow. Have a good day."

"Wait!" Riza tripped her way towards him, feeling the beginning of a snowfall on her head and shoulders. The snow crunched under her bare feet, sending shivers all the way up to her spine. "The nearest city is hours away from here, you'll die before you get there!"

Roy turned around, smirking incredulously at her garments. "Who are you to tell me that?"

"Well, I am Riza Hawkeye, it's a pleasure to meet you." She took his hand to shake it, but a small part of her only did that for warmth. "As Berthold's daughter, it is my duty to make sure his guests survive. He'll be home by night anyway, so it's pointless to find a hotel far away."

"That's not exactly what I meant, but thank you very much for the offer. However," he turned around in his heels, "I cannot accept it as I am not in the mood of babysitting a little girl."

She swirled him back to face her by his arm, then confidently stated, "I may be small for my age, but —" a shiver. "I may be small for my age, but I can assure you I am quite independent. Numbers can't really decide one's maturity, and in fact, you don't look that —" once again, she paused, but this time because her words jumbled up into one even she couldn't understand. She cleared her sore throat and excused herself before continuing. "Look that old yourself."

"I'll be sixteen in three months, so I can find myself a hotel nearby easily."

Riza tried to organize her thoughts into words, but they came out like a big, messy snowball, rolling out of her tongue. She tried again, and again, and again, but nothing changed. Her jaw seemed to unhinge from her skull, her teeth chattering and fighting against each other, no matter how hard she tried to stop them. Immediately, she understood her body needed to go back into the coziness of the house, and she scurried towards it in slippery, clumsy steps. Goosebumps prickled her fragile skin, erecting the tiny hairs on her legs and arms, and her feet were at the verge of going completely numb.

And so they did. She tumbled forward and into the snow, only to painfully rise back up. Her hair was now glistening with white beads, her chapped blue lips slowly bleeding. She looked back in horror as words refused to leave her mouth, and in a matter of seconds, Roy had lifted her into the air and was taking her back to the porch. He could feel her trembling against his chest and looked down to see that her eyes had closed and her hands had found their way into her mouth. When they went too far back, she gagged and pulled them away, quickly slipping them into the opposite sleeve. She coughed dryly, gasping after each assault until she could barely breathe and her consciousness started to vanish.

"The keys, Hawkeye, I need the keys!" He shook her, uselessly trying to wake her up, until he gave up and carefully passed her small body through the window, making sure she had a soft landing. He then jumped in himself as far away from her as he could, closing the window to prevent any wind from cooling the house.

Now he had a very, very hard mission. Two, to be exact. The first one being finding Riza's room. The second one being taking in the appearance of the house.

It had a toxic smell, as strong as tobacco and as bad as body odors. The floorboards groaned and the doors rattled with every step he took, and he had a tiny fear of the whole structure collapsing onto him. Every corner had a spider web, topped by centuries-old dust that was catapulted into the air by the wood under it whenever Roy stepped onto said plank. On the living room, there was only a sofa sitting against the wall and a coffee table before it.

Roy made his way up the rotten stairs, praying for it not to fall, then glanced inside each room. They were all empty except for a bed that was probably never touched or dusted. Finally, he found a slightly bigger one, with an organized bed and desk, absolutely opposing the rest of the house. It looked like a whole new world, as if the door was a portal. The walls were a clean white, decorated by anti-military propaganda, and the shelves were filled with books and journals. Her sheets were straight and ironed, and the pillows were arranged in a way that would make anyone want to sink into them.

He envied Riza's position as he lowered her into them, but also pitied the fact that her clothes were soaked with freezing water and he couldn't do anything about it. Her face was pale, and her eyebrows twitched in pain. As soon as her boy hit the mattress, she curled herself into a ball and thanked him quietly, trying her best to smile.

"May I get a towel?" He checked, wrapping a quilt around her. She nodded faintly, so he went into the bathroom and grabbed the thickest towel he could find. It was a blue one that matched her bedsheets that matched the theme of the room, and he immediately noticed that Riza was not a disorganized girl. Sighing, he pulled her cold boy out of the covers and wrapped the towel around it before tucking her back in, using every single blanket he could find in an attempt to warm her up. "Would you like anything?"

A bundle of words and a 'drink' mixed into it.

Roy nodded and started to leave but was stopped by another bundle of words. He asked her to repeat, but it was yet another bundle of words. "Slowly," he prompted, articulating to stress that advice. Riza started to sit up, but her vision blurred and she was forced down.

"My clothes," she started, but wasn't able to form the rest of her sentence. "My clothes," once again, she failed. Finally, after opening and closing her eyes and mouth several times, she spoke clearly… or almost clearly. "My clothes are wet, I need to change."

"Sure? You should rest, change when you start feeling better."

The chattering teeth paused for a moment and air was allowed through them, but no response. She closed her mouth again, resuming the actions, and that was really all Roy needed. He made his way back to her bedside and carefully pulled her into a sitting position. Slowly, she slid her legs out of the bed and rubbed her forehead, probably trying to stop a lurking headache. She then weakly gripped his forearms and pulled herself up, only to slip forward and bury her face in his coat.

After a quick apology, Riza gradually removed a hand, pressing it against her bed for balance, then followed suit with the other. Gently, she took a step forward, but before she knew it her chin dug into the floor and her vision faded to black.

"Idiot, I knew it!" Roy called, lifting her back up. Her eyes, though they opened a few times for seconds, were lost and tired. Blood leaked out of her gum and nose due to the impact and tears were forced onto her eyes, even though she was clearly not aware of them. Roy had just enough time to cover her back up and clean the excess blood when the main door screamed, announcing someone's arrival.

In the blink of an eye, Mustang had already rushed towards it and greeted the middle-aged man that came in, quickly introducing himself and explaining Riza's situation. "Her clothes are wet, sir, I think it would be best to change her into dry ones."

Berthold Hawkeye's small, empty eyes narrowed, and his lips curved into an evil smirk. It was only briefly, however, so briefly that Roy didn't notice — which lead him to almost jump in shock at his master's next words.

It was a miserable sight, really. The man was probably in his late forties or early fifties, but he emitted a dark and traumatizing aura that seemed to age his soul, resulting in an elderly look. Had Mustang not researched about him, he would think he was Riza's grandfather or an older uncle. In fact, the only thing that both of them had in common was the dry, blond hair, which for him, as opposed to Riza's, hung several centimeters below his chest.

Finally, he shrugged and smiled kindly, which contrasted greatly with his intentions. "Just let her die already. It would be a waste of supplies to try to warm her up," he chuckled, heading towards a narrow door.

Mustang faked a laugh, not finding the humor in his joke. When he noticed the man made no move to actually help his daughter, he protested against the inhuman idea.

"If you want Elizabeth to live, go help her yourself, because I really don't care. My wife left me with her eight years ago, and to be honest, my life has never been so miserable," Berthold announced, entering the door and going down a staircase, probably.

With a low huff, Roy turned around and went back up the stairs and into Riza's room, where a sick human sushi laid unconscious. She looked so innocent, her round nose and cheeks pale except for the bright pink blush that dared to creep onto them.

For obvious reasons, he would not find out if she was breathing by touching her neck or chest, so instead, he pressed his thumb against her wrist, stopping his own breathing to concentrate. After waiting a few seconds and not feeling any signs of a pulse, he changed his position, bringing the digit a bit to the left. Once again, almost nothing. The man kept dabbing his finger around her wrist until finally, he felt a low but noticeable throb.

"I apologize in advance, Ms. Hawkeye, but this is for your own good," Roy muttered, removing the pile of blankets from her petite body. After maximizing the heater, he picked her up and laid her next to it, lifting the nightgown ever so slightly to rush the drying.

When he thought the excess water was gone, he went back to business. Initially, since a few blankets were also wet, he made sure to discard those and look for new ones. Next, for comfort, he placed a pillow under her damp hair and massaged her scalp with a towel, finally earning a response in return.

It wasn't the best response he could get on that situation, but it was more than enough to send a wave of relief through his body. Softly, Riza cracked her eyes open, blinking slowly a few times before shutting them completely once again. She kept repeating this sequence, and he could tell that she was somewhat scared and lost. Well, who can blame her? It's not every day that you wake up next to a man you don't remember meeting and so close to a heater your skin burns.

Finally, she split her lips apart, trying to form words, but nothing came out. She moved them over and over again, but so little movement was made that even if she was able to talk no one would be able to hear her. Before she could help it, her face twisted and contorted into various different wrinkles Roy had no idea a thirteen-year-old could have, and a tear left her eye, followed by numerous others, but not yet forming a complete sob.

"What's wrong?" Roy wondered, removing the towel from her head. Riza's body kept motionless, except for the constant jumps on her chest due to the hiccups. She tried and tried to form words, but whenever she was able to start a sentence it would either be cut off by a gasp or it would quickly turn into gibberish. Eventually, her face was covered by her palms and she began to wail, folding her legs up and tucking her toes underneath her feet.

Thank you, she wanted to say, thank you for taking care of this incompetent girl you just met.

Unfortunately, before words were exchanged, Berthold's thunderous voice echoed through the house. "Shut up, Elizabeth!" it ordered, traveling down the corridor, into the room, and slapping her on her already pink cheek. With a lot of effort, Riza mentally straightened her tongue and placed it on the correct position, finally being able to reply. First, she corrected her father. Apparently, he was so ignorant he didn't even know his own daughter's name.

"It's Riza!" she screeched, a pain striking her throat. A good pain, however, that came with the amazing feeling of being right. Roy seemed to back off a few centimeters due to her scream, but quickly returned, removing her hands from her face and dropping his head so that their noses almost touched. Immediately, Riza smiled, then sniffed once before pushing him away with her heavy arms. As soon as a chuckle left her, however, her head seemed to boil and she had to force herself to a stop.

Roy helped her sit up yet again but didn't allow her to stand just yet, asking for medicine instead. She tilted her head in confusion, then stopped to think.

"You don't know what's medicine?" Roy questioned, sitting down himself. Riza's expression didn't change, but she slowly crawled towards her desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a small box. She handed it to him as soon as she returned to her original spot, then helped him uncap it.

Horror was not enough to describe Roy's appearance as he lifted the lid. A strong, poisonous scent wrapped around him and was forced into his nostrils the more he kept the box open. "Riza, these are not medicine," he murmured, staring deep into her eyes. "Why do you have this?"

"My father told me it was medicine, but that I could only use it in cases of emergency before I turned eighteen," she explained, pulling a cigarette out of the box and rolling it between her palms. "I never used it, though."

"Throw it away."

Riza stopped rolling and fixed her gaze back at him. "What?"

"This is not medicine, Riza, throw it away."

"Then what is this?"

Roy sighed and shut the box. Tension stretched between the two of them and was so tight it could be cut by a plastic sword. His breath came out in slow exhales, blowing out of his mouth, and he could feel the unease in the girl's gaze. Her hands shakily tried to take the box from his grasp, but he held it tighter and looked up at her, trying not to let his dread spill onto his expression. "I don't mean to pry, but is there something going on between you and your father?"

Riza's hands fell back onto the floor in front of her and she considered for a minute before answering. "Nothing unusual, why?" Truth be told, she didn't really want to know why.

"What I am about to tell you might be a bit shocking, so -"

"Then don't say it. If it's something bad, I don't want to know." Riza snatched the box from him and slammed it shut, wincing at the sound as it pounded through her ears. When she was about to stand up, Roy grabbed her arm and held her down, then allowed his hands to travel up to her shoulders.

"Promise me one thing. It's all I ask," he begged, lightly squeezing her body. "Don't you ever touch those things again. Throw them away, even if you have to throw it out the window, but don't you ever get close to this box again."

And so she did.

But not yet, I'm anticipating myself. Please wait a few more months, or a few more chapters, if that's how you call it.


	4. Yellow, the Happiness

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or gain any profit from this fanfic other than writing practice and improved self-esteem ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ**

* * *

**Chapter Four:  
****Yellow, the Happiness**

**sometimes you learn something that turns the world yellow.  
****It is only then that you may consider yourself happy.**

* * *

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

Riza was snapped out of her thoughts by no one other than Roy, much to her comfort. Probably as a joke, he kept waving his hand in front of her face, but she quickly made sure to get rid of it by digging her nails into his wrist and bringing it down. "I strongly agree with Colonel Mustang," she stated as he squirmed and rubbed his aching limb. Of course, she had no idea of what was going on or what were the opposing viewpoints, but sometimes — I repeat, sometimes — Mustang's brain wakes up.

The other soldiers, including her superior, looked at her incredulously. A Brigadier General was the first to speak.

"You understand that this means you will transfer under someone else's command, right?"

Now, this was not what she expected. What in the world was Roy thinking? Why did he want to be separated from her? Riza could only think of one answer, and the image of it made her heart leap out of her chest. She could feel her cheeks and ears heat up, and to be honest, her whole upper body felt like it was in flames. A thin layer of sweat coated her hands so she immediately shifted the coats farther away from them before finally stammering a few questions.

"Why? What about the others?" She inquired, trying to cool down but failing miserably. There were innumerable pairs of confused eyes scanning her face, and her only salvation was looking straight into Roy's, hopefully managing a glare.

"Lieutenant, what's wrong?" The Corporal persisted, which only earned Riza an insult by another man, who mentioned the day King Bradley was murdered and Riza arrived at the hospital with an injured Roy in her arms, barely being able to ask for help because of her cries. It was, however, only when they connected Riza from then and Riza from now that Roy knew he had to step in and stop teh jokes.

"Is she crying?! Is she covered in blood?! I'm sorry, but stop making things up!" He once again turned to her. "Hey, Hawkeye, what's wrong?"

Finally, she regained her composure and stomped on his foot before gritting a few words up at him. The woman would rather die than to flush in front of those men, and sternly ordered them to have a conversation in privacy.

Because one doesn't simply disobey Riza Hawkeye, Roy excused them and guided her over to behind a nearby building (or at least what was left of it). He could see the embarrassment and confusion in her eyes, and how he loved to see it. For a moment, he just stared into them, getting lost in her gaze and forgetting what he had gone to that location for.

There was something about the woman before him that felt so distant, yet so familiar. She was right in front of him, probably also lost in her thoughts, waiting for the right moment to return to reality and ask him for clarification. There was, though, this feeling of uncertainty; he felt as if he needed to do something, but wasn't sure what. Should he be the one to start the conversation? But that would mean he had to avert his gaze, which was something he really didn't want to do.

Riza leaned back onto the rubble and lead her gaze down to their feet. Lightly, she tapped her foot against his, sending dust into the atmosphere and warmth into his chest. "So?" He prompted, finally leading his gaze down to her lips.

There was a sigh, then the so-awaited question. "What are you doing? Why do you want to do something that will separate us? I thought I was supposed to protect your back," she pointed out, standing up straight once again. The air around the two seemed to wrap them in a tight bear hug, making their breath come out slow and hesitant.

"You weren't paying attention, were you?"

"Sorry, I-"

"You made the right choice. Those men wanted to promote me to Brigadier General, but I don't think it's fair. While I make my way up again, you'll be working under someone else."

Though Hawkeye was slightly relieved that he did not want to transfer her to another command so they could have a relationship, which was something she would like to discuss with him in privacy first, she still did not like the idea. "That means you'll lose everything you have! What about me? What about the others? What about Gen. Hughes?!" She persisted, the name 'Hughes' prickling her throat. After swallowing the needles, she continued. "Didn't you promise him you would get to the top?!"

First, the words came out filled with air, floating around the two for a while before traveling into the sky and disappearing. Next, they poured out of her mouth and were dropped onto the floor, sinking into the cracks and being forgotten. After a few more failed attempts, she finally managed to hand him the question, opening his hand and dropping it onto his dirty palm before closing his fingers and waiting for a response.

But there was none. All he did was drop to the floor by the weight of her words and let them roll out of his hands, running his other one through his greasy hair. Riza closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said those things," she mumbled, kneeling down in front of him. "You probably thought a lot about it, I shouldn't doubt you."

"No, don't worry. I know that you just want to help, but now is my turn to make a big decision." There was a long moment of silence, and the air seemed to tighten more. Mustang could see her chest continuously rising and falling, but the motion was so exaggerated and the gaps between them were so big that it was obvious that the tension was strongly affecting her.

Carefully, he placed a hand on her cheek and rubbed it gently, looking into her eyes to look for any signs of reluctance. He pitied the way she looked down and parted her lips, trying to help her breathing steady. When he slowly guided his other hand to wrap around her neck and used his thumb to caress her jaw, her hand rose to her sternum and she closed her eyes, her skin once again being brushed by red.

Finally, she looked at him again, and although she knew it wasn't the right thing to do, Riza wanted to use the opportunity. She had longed for his lips since the last time they kissed, back in her teen years. She wondered if they had changed, maybe gotten rougher because of the insults he threw at Edward, or if he now had a small mustache to tickle her skin. How did he taste? Was it good or bad? She couldn't quite remember, and in fact, she didn't have the slightest idea. On that day - the day she last felt his lips - she promised herself never to kiss another man.

And she kept that promise.

Eight years passed and Riza's lips never met someone else's. Was this the right time? Should she lean in? Should she avoid it? Maybe pull him away, who knows? These questions kept swimming around her head and she froze in place, waiting for him.

She was always waiting for him. She waited for him when he first went down to visit her father, for example. She waited for him in her room, with a hot chocolate in a hand and a book on her lap. She waited for hours, and even though her eyes begged her to go to sleep, she wouldn't. He had vowed to come back before going to sleep to check on her temperature, and she didn't expect him to lie.

Nevertheless, Roy soon took a huge step into the room and loudly cleared his throat before muttering, "Your father is a jerk." Riza couldn't contain a short giggle that punched at her lips, so she let it out briefly before swallowing it back in, only to be followed suit by the man, who dropped down onto a couch not long after. Letting out a sigh, he scanned the books on the shelves next to him before pulling one out, lifting his eyebrows quizzically at Riza's silent protest. She was biting her lips and arching her eyebrows upward, a clear sign of disagreement for him.

The inside of the book was quite curious: there were only pictures. No words. But not any kind of pictures. They were confusing and abstract, interpretable in multiple ways depending on who is analyzing them. Roy saw a woman sinking into darkness. Riza probably saw a woman reaching for the light. Berthold would probably see a woman stuck in between, with nowhere to escape.

Disappointed, he put the book away and picked another one, then another one, then another. Still no words. He could tell she was embarrassed by the way she opened her book and covered her face with it, flipping the pages at a way too fast of a pace for an average thirteen-year-old reader, so he assumed it was yet another picture book.

When he asked her if she had any good books and she didn't answer, things started stitching together into a big, messy quilt. After building enough courage, Roy cautiously asked her, "Riza, can you read?"

No reply. Only a harder grip and a red neck poking out of a book.

The question was repeated, louder.

But there was still no reply.

"Do you go to school?" He rephrased, walking towards her and pressing a knee against her blankets, leaning forward and gently pulling the book up to reveal her flushed cheeks. "Do you?"

A nod from the young woman.

A lifted eyebrow from the young man.

Another nod from the young woman.

A shrug from the young man.

A shake of the head from the young woman.

A pair of wide eyes from the young man.

Roy was intrigued, to say the least. He debated whether her father couldn't afford her tuition or if he just didn't feel like she needed to be educated. Either way, he was going to put her in school, even if it costs his living. He just couldn't sit there, learning like a madman — _with_ a madman — while she sunk into misery, probably to grow into a housewife (or _housedaughter_, since she would probably never be allowed to be a wife. But let's keep in mind that Roy didn't know of the tattoo, so for him 'housewife' was the proper term).

"Do you want to learn how to read?" He finally proposed, setting the book down between them. He wasn't sure if Riza had heard the question, for she stayed in silence for a good time. Mustang instantly regretted asking her such a thing and hoped she would ask for clarification so he could say something different, maybe about the pictures, maybe about her father.

What was he thinking? He didn't come all the way from Central City to wherever the hell Berthold lived to teach a teenager the alphabet! He had gone there to learn something himself; to learn the alchemic alphabet!

When more time went by and there was still no response, Roy voiced his first doubt by the simple calling of her name. Luckily, she understood the reason behind the call and came back to reality.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered hoarsely, "but yes, I would like to learn how to read."

Instantly, the man mentally kicked himself and started searching for excuses in his head, but before he could ask anything she reached for a pen and ink pot that lay carefully placed on the nightstand. After flipping the pages of the book between them to a blank one, Riza looked up at him, expectantly.

"I can't teach you how to write, you'll have to find a teacher," Roy babbled, fixing his posture to sit Indian-style on the bed.

"If we had enough money, I would have already found myself a teacher!" Her sentence was punctuated by a short cough.

Yet again, a question of his was answered. One of the problems was money. He could simply call his aunt and ask for some, maybe come up with a sketchy excuse, but it would probably be enough only for a month or two of tuition with a private teacher.

He could ask for a certain amount of money as an allowance or say that Berthold wasn't teaching for free and save it until he had enough for at least a semester at the closest school, but there were two problems with that.

The most critical was one was that Riza would be at least one year older, and the older she is the more ashamed she would feel to be studying with six-year-olds. The second one was that the town she lived in was so poor and so small (in fact, it was more like a remote neighborhood with ten or fifteen houses and a market) that she would have to travel every day to the closest city, which was at least one hour by horse and two by foot.

Roy bit his lip, deep in thought. Until he had money, he could teach her the basics. Maybe when he wasn't busy. It would take quite some time, but it's better than nothing. Resolved, he looked back up and explained his decision, and her expression was instantly graced by a smile.

"We can start tomorrow, it's already late. After dinner?" he proposed, standing up and taking the thermometer from a pile of books on a shelf.

"After dinner."

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Hi! I finally made an author's note!**

**I thought I was being a bit too distant, so I decided to talk a bit about this fic.**

**So, I am basing this story on my relationship with a seventeen-year-old. I did write a Royai ****fic before, _Promise_, but I feel like it's too unrealistic and I'll have to make several changes. Because Riza is not my age on that fic, it was really hard to write her, and even though Roy is my age, I don't really know how a thirteen-year-old _boy_'s brain works.**

**Nevertheless, I decided to write Riza as a thirteen-year-old and Roy as a seventeen-year-old, as I recently met a seventeen-year-old I am developing a strong bond with. In fact, this fic might be fully inspired by said bond, and I might even wait until I'm fourteen to make Riza fourteen, as hard as that may be.**

**One of the problems of entirely basing this fic on my life is that I see the boy I'm talking about more like an older brother, but I do have some ideas on how to hopefully make this a romance Royai. For now, at least, Roy will probably be more brotherly towards Riza, but as she reaches a more mature age things might get a bit mor****e spicey****.**

**Not as in smut.**

**I ****don't write smut and I never will.**

**But I can write fluff... ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ**

**(btw don't judge my ability to write romance by my age, though I had never actually experienced much I read a lot)**

**(please don't judge this fic by my age I know I'm young but just pretend I'm older if it helps!)**

**Okay, this is getting kinda long. Anyway, these are all just concepts that I may or may not use. Thank you very much for all the support so far, and if you have any ideas, opinions, suggestions, complaints, corrections, or anything really please don't hesitate to review, it really motivates me to continue writing!**

_**〜 浮田カーリン**_


	5. Gray, the Doubt

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or gain any profit from this fanfic other than writing practice and improved self-esteem ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ**

* * *

**Chapter Five:  
****Gray, the Doubt**

**sometimes your head formulates so many questions your world turns gray.  
****it is only then that you may consider yourself doubtful.**

* * *

Come on, Riza mentally urged, her eyes fluttering closed. Roy had been cupping her face for way too long and she felt a sudden and desperate need for his contact. He was teasing her, she was sure. Evidence of that was the simple way he barely brushed her lips with his before backing away and waiting before diving in again.

Clearly, Riza hated that suspense. She had always been a blunt woman, doing things without hesitating once she had already made her decision and going direct to the point. Roy, in contrast, was the master procrastinator. Even if he wanted to kiss her, he would take his time and let the world around them fade away before capturing her in a beautiful moment of pure passion.

The first time they kissed was no different.

But I'll save that story for another chapter.

Growing impatient and tired of his little game, Riza started closing the gap between them herself. They were so close… she needed only a few more seconds; a few more seconds to make sure he was okay with the probable connection and, at last, feel him against her lips.

Sadly, the world couldn't wait a few more seconds. As soon as a voice boomed through the rubble searching for the two, the woman grabbed the hand on her cheek and pulled it down before quickly driving her lips to his ear and muttering some gibberish. When she was done, Riza pulled away and stood up, despite the coolness on her face due to the loss of contact. "Alright, sir. Thank you for the clarification," she announced, just as the Brigadier General from before arrived.

Still startled, Roy stood up and wiped the excess dirt off his uniform, watching as she turned around and explained to the waiting soldier that they were 'debating the issue.' Her blond tresses were slowly but surely escaping the maroon clip, and the more the strands freed themselves the more Roy wanted to run his fingers through her silky hair.

She had washed it, he noticed, because she wasn't wearing the earrings he gave her. Though the man was probably the only one who realized it, there was a clear difference between those rusty old ones an academy friend — who Roy secretly suspects was more than just a friend — gave her and the shiny silver ones he gifted her. She never wore the latter after washing her hair, both due to the fear that she might lose it during the bath and because, according to her, she didn't look pretty with damp hair and those earrings were for pretty women.

Not a statement that Roy particularly agreed with, as she was beautiful to his eyes even when in the shapeless military uniform.

"Sir?" Hawkeye called, trying to avert her gaze from his, even though it was hard when they were so close to finally have a moment for them. She knew that if they have any sort of eye contact again she would lose her mind, but, luckily, he trotted her way before needing any further notice.

Whether it was on purpose or not was impossible to tell, but Roy had, with no doubt, slowed his pace to walk a few steps behind the General and taken Riza with him. Was he jealous of him? It is true that Riza had worked with the man for those two years, but it doesn't mean he had the courage to break the protocol as Roy had.

When they were far enough and hidden by the darkness of the night, Riza grew uncomfortable. He kept slowing down, and before she knew it the General had taken a turn somewhere and disappeared. Anyway, Roy continued wading through the empty streets, not allowing one word to leave his mouth. It's not like the Lieutenant didn't trust him, she knew he wouldn't try anything (and even if he did, she could just shoot him) but there was something wrong about his route.

Her hypothesis was proved when they got to a damp alley. It was far from where the battle took place, yet the street was still crumbled and cracked, surrounded by vine-filled houses. Why did Riza not leave before, she didn't know. Hopefully, her residence had survived and she would be able to return as soon as possible to safety.

But not yet. First, she needed to know where he was going, because that was the kind of place she would expect to see a trash bar, and we all know pretty well what Roy would do in a trash bar after this horrid day he had.

Nonetheless, she asked him the question floating in her head and waited, but did not get a reply. "Sir, if you're thinking about drinking yourself to oblivion, then know that I will not allow it," she declared, taking one, loud step before stopping.

"Why would I do that?" He chuckled grimly, stopping before her and resting his hands on his hips. "I'm taking you to a cottage, the others are there too."

The other men were in a cottage. That meant their houses were probably destroyed. If she was being taken to the cottage too, that could only mean one thing.

It's not like Riza had anything of value in there; her wallet and earrings were on her pocket - but she had someone of value. Someone almost as important and meaningful as Roy. "Wait, I left Hayate at home!"

Roy sighed and turned back. "I'll go find him, stay in the cottage" he announced, then quickly added, "please."

"What do you mean?" She muttered, reaching for his arm just as he walked away.

"You want to see your dog's corpse?" Struggling out of her grasp, he started his journey to her house, leaving a teary-eyed Riza behind with nothing but directions to said cottage, which was apparently just down the alley.

Apparently, the men waiting for her heard the commotion, as Havoc emerged from a tight spot between two buildings and asked for the Colonel. Unfortunately for him, Riza was paying no heed for his words, as her dread for her puppy took up way too much space from her mind.

"I left Hayate alone," she breathed, a tear finding its way down her cheek as her blurred vision followed Roy's far away figure. "I left Hayate alone," she repeated, finally turning to face the man.

Havoc opened his mouth to speak but was cut by her cries. "I should have taken him with me! I was going to, but he was grounded so I didn't, and now he's buried under a building and only whoever is up there will be able to give Roy the courage to confirm the news!" she confessed, more and more tears following the first one. She knew she sounded stupid. Who grounds a dog? Who causes such a wreak over a dog?

Riza, apparently.

Still in tears, Riza was escorted through the crack and into a one-story wide house made entirely of wood. She was told to sit down on a box they used as a chair and was given a cup by no one other than Fuery, who also handed her a consolation.

Unbeknownst to them, Black Hayate had always been more than just a dog. He was a partner and a friend, who was always there to cheer her up. Sometimes, while she waited for Roy after a nightmare, the puppy would leap onto her bed and nuzzle her chest, only to soon spring to the edge of the bed and growl at Roy's steps.

After hard missions, he would greet her at the door and ask to go for a walk, and finally, Riza would have some time to spend in peace with her puppy. For her, he was a symbol of hope; a reason for her to live. She knew he wouldn't survive on his own, he can't talk or work, for example.

However, she never asked herself: could she live without him?

She wished she was worthy of prayer so she could beg for Hayate's safety, or at least that Roy would return with empty arms so there was a slight chance of him being alive somewhere. Hayate is a smart dog, she assured, he escaped.

After a bit of distraction and catching up provided by the boys (which, of course, included cheap whiskey and watered-down beer) Riza was guided to a small makeshift bed in one of the rooms. "I don't think you want to sleep in our room, so you can stay in this one." Breda shrugged, then explained where the bathroom and other rooms were. Presumably, her room was the only suite, and she was not going to accept that.

"I don't mind sleeping in your room. Let the Colonel have this one. He rented this house, after all."

"The _Corporal_ doesn't have enough money to buy a loaf of bread. Falman was the one who paid for it," Havoc mumbled, pulling out a cigarette but then putting it back after remembering the fact that they were in a wooden cottage.

"The _Brigadier General_. I promoted him," she corrected, somehow back to her bluntness despite the alcohol inside her.

Breda was the first to step in. "What? When? Why? You can't promote him!"

"I know, but he was given the choice to be promoted and I made the decision. He'll get his new epaulettes by Monday, and if he doesn't, I'll shoot him and put them on his dead body."

"So he's coming back?" Fuery checked, a smile cutting through his face. Riza nodded, and the room seemed to warm up in joy. Soon enough, Falman appeared with another box of drinks, and everyone took several bottles and sat down on the dusty wooden floor.

Decades before, Riza had felt that feeling of accomplishment and celebrated it the same way. She still remembers the way the alcohol tickled her throat and numbed her tongue, and how she got in trouble for throwing up on the doorstep.

Roy had started teaching her a few words, and sometimes they would go together to the market in the nearby city. It was always the same thing: Mustang would do the shopping (he lost a game of rock-paper-scissors, in case you were wondering) and Riza would walk around and amaze herself with the many houses and people.

She did not have a very broad vocabulary, and not all of her words were pronounced correctly. Since her mother passed, she has not learned one new word, and only tried to copy the ones her father and Roy would say when they had lessons in the kitchen.

(Keep in mind that these were words like '_thick-witted apprentice, how are thou having such a stressful time determining these uncomplicated algorithms?' _and '_I know not, master, for I have examined them night after night. Perhaps I shall stop distracting myself with your daughter and concentrate deeper on my education.'_)

Turning onto a small road, Riza found a group of kids forming a circle. They were playing several percussion instruments in an almost scary beat and in the middle two of them were fighting. It was a bit disturbing, to say the least, almost like a ritual. They were chanting unknown words that were surely not Amestrian and those without instruments were clapping or cheering.

Like no one else would, Riza ran towards them and jumped over the wall of children, landing right between the fighters and screaming, "You thin-witted children! Stop fighting, you look like seven-year-olds!"

(Yes, she cringes every time she remembers saying 'thin-witted' instead of 'thick-witted').

Everything went silent, and, despite the subconscious urge to make a tighter pose, Riza kept her arms spread open, her palms almost touching the kids' noses. A boy with a bongo-drum stood up. "This is not a fight," he started, his accent giving away the fact that he was foreign, "it's a dance."

The others agreed and started speaking between them in their language. How could that possibly be a dance? They were hitting each other, she was sure of it. She saw how the girl had tried to kick the boy. A dance is supposed to be graceful and both dancers should have a good time.

"Get out of there and watch," the boy continued. Keening, Riza reluctantly obeyed, sitting down on a spot that had been opened for her. She had not even relaxed properly before the racket continued. They decided on a beat and everyone started chanting with the song while the two fighters resumed. They were probably around her age, but they were able to do impressive things from standing on their hands to kicking high and straight. Despite the tired limbs, they were smiling and kept fighting — or dancing — until finally, they came to a stop.

Riza rose to her feet and was about to clap when two more children exchanged a few gestures and crawled to the center of the circle. Once there, they greeted each other with a simple handshake and began the fight. The Amestrian sat down again and watched in awe at all that energy, and before she knew it, the sun was starting to dip into the horizon.

"Riza!" Immediately, she recognized the voice and knew she was going to be punished for worrying him. After a quick apology, the girl ran towards the voice, only to be followed by the bongo-drummer.

"Come again tomorrow, okay?!" he called, catching up with her. "I'm Nicholas, and we are Cretan refugees! Nice to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Nicholas, but I really need to go now! I'll come again next week!"

Nicholas slowed to a halt and watched as she met up with a worried Roy, who promptly hugged her and whispered something in the lines of 'next time, tell me where you're going.'

'Next time' arrived exactly six days later, on a Saturday. Once again, they went to the city and Riza promised to be in the exact same place as before. This time, however, they weren't chanting or fighting. They were celebrating.

"Finally! Now we'll be able to go home," a girl exclaimed. There was a dirty bottle on her hand, like the ones Riza had seen her father drink, and a ripped newspaper on the other.

She took a step closer, searching the crowd for Nicholas. He was in the middle, sitting on top of a box and drinking from another bottle. "Nicholas?" she tried, finally standing next to some children.

"Ah, you're the girl from before! You came on a great day! Creta's Civil War is officially over!" he announced, grinning from cheek to cheek. Even though Riza didn't even know where Creta was, she returned the smile and sat down. "Have some," the boy suggested, handing her his bottle.

Riza's expression twisted into an incredulous one. "Why would you want me to drink from your bottle? I'm filthy." It wasn't a lie. Her father couldn't afford to allow her to bathe daily, so her skin and hair were coated with five-day-old dirt and grease. Even though Madam Christmas was sending a small amount of cash each month, it was mostly used for Roy's occasional showers.

"Shut up, we are all celebrating. What can a few germs do?"

"Kill you."

Nicholas rolled his eyes and explained that he lived in the streets and she should be the one grossed out, but Riza was not the least disgusted. He was just a boy like any other, but a bit dirtier. Shrugging, Riza took the bottle and a deep breath before pressing her lips against the tip. The smell was toxic and strong, and concern bubbled in her stomach.

Slowly, she tilted the container up, but when the golden liquid inside was about to enter her she put it down again to take another deep breath. Her father had told her it was just like the medicine, and she was only supposed to drink when in stress or grief.

She had mourned for her mother but didn't allow herself to drink since the woman's last words were a request for her to smile. According to her, she would be "watching you from the sky and ground you if you cry." Nevertheless, Riza would only shed her tears under the blankets, where her sobs were muffled and her face was hidden.

Eventually, she managed to tip the bottle just enough to feel the drink tickle her tongue, then swallowed it and immediately began to cough, haphazardly handing him the bottle.

"Why would you drink this?!" she questioned, finally getting to a stop.

"We're celebrating! That's why," a girl replied, half-laughing at Riza's reaction.

Unbeknownst to her, she would later throw up on the doorstep and her father would make her clean it while Roy was punished for not taking good care of her. For both of them, it was a terrible evening, but running away at night to camp in the woods surely outweighed it.

That night was a special night for Riza; it was the night she and Roy truly befriended. They talked until dawn, when the girl's eyes felt way too heavy and she closed them for the last time before waking up in her bed.


	6. Red, the Violence

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or gain any profit from this fanfic other than writing practice and improved self-esteem ****ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ**

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**Chapter Six:**  
**Red, the Violence**

**sometimes a childhood is smeared by blood**

**it is only then that you may consider yourself traumatized**

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"Damn, it's raining," Falman pointed out, staring out the window. It was a smart decision to do so since Fuery was currently poured on the floor and Breda was busy poking the man's behind with his toes, one at each time. Empty bottles were scattered across the floor, covered in leftover beer, and Riza was curled up in the corner, trying to do exactly what she had told Roy not to: drink herself to oblivion.

There was one problem, however, and that is that the woman was incredibly immune to any sort of alcohol. She had drunk… nine bottles? It still wasn't enough, and she felt wide awake.

"I should go after the Colonel," she thought out loud, waiting for Havoc's correction. For some reason, it didn't come, so she assumed he had also passed out. After stepping over the men and briefly saluting Falman (who tried to protest), Riza left the room and made her way to the door. She was about to grasp the handle when a cough echoed through the house.

Naturally, one would expect it to be one of the men, but it was clear for her that it came from the other side of the house. It was then that she realized Havoc wasn't on the pile of men she had to leap over and silently made her way towards the cough.

"Stop, Lieutenant," The Warrant Officer ordered, causing her to turn around.

"Who else is here?" she asked sternly, scanning his body for any gestures that might give it away.

"You'll find out eventually, but not now."

Another cough.

Riza balled her fists and gritted her teeth before turning around abruptly and resuming her search. There was something about the cough that sounded so familiar, but she couldn't identify it just yet. She could hear Falman stomping towards her, but that didn't change her mind.

"It was the Colonel who told us not to let you go. He said he wanted to be with you when you did, so please don't disobey him before he even starts working again." The man barricaded Hawkeye by standing in front of her and spreading his limbs.

"He should know better than to give me orders. I am known for not obeying him." Unfortunately for her, those weren't the orders she would typically disobey as they didn't keep her away from the Colonel; they did quite the opposite, to be exact.

Suddenly, the coughs started again, intensifying at every moment. Within seconds, the gaps between them were filled by desperate heaves, and everything was slowly clouded by the sound of shirts shifting and furniture being slightly moved, perhaps due to someone bumping onto them.

Before she knew it, Falman had zoomed past Riza towards a door and flung it open, allowing the noise inside to spill out. "Falman, start the car!" someone commanded from inside. Falman tried to say something against it but was stopped by a repetition of the phrase previously said.

The coughs wouldn't stop, and Riza found her feet taking her into the room. Once there, her expression took the form of complete horror as she stared at the sickly woman in Havoc's arms. Her brown hair was stuck to her face by sweat and huge bags formed under her shut eyes. Her mouth was probably once covered by a white rag produced by Havoc, as she saw a few small red spots on it when he dropped the fabric to stand up.

That just couldn't be happening. Not with her, not with _her_! How had that happened? Since when was she ill? Why wasn't she taken to a hospital? Riza froze in place, opening and closing her mouth to try to form words. She could see the way Havoc didn't know what to say by the way he stared at her: shocked and regretful.

She stared back, trying to speak with her eyes, but he didn't understand her chosen language. For her, he had stopped in front of her for years, but only a split second passed before he ran out of the room and into the car Falman was driving, not being able to care less about the rain pounding on his shoulders.

Riza followed suit, but the door shut on her face and the car drove away, taking with it the image of a brunette's face sprinkled by a blonde's tears as their lips met for probably the last time before she left forever.

For a long time, Riza stood under the rain, the droplets blending with her tears and washing them away. The list of people she lost grew at every moment. First Edward. Then Alphonse. Then Hayate. Now Rebecca. Her friend looked so pale and so lifeless… was it smoke? She wasn't even supposed to be in Central, had she come to die? The news was all over Amestris, she should have known.

Maybe it's just a dog's natural instinct. She heard they needed sacrifices, she came for the rescue.

Riza's legs gave away and she finally wiped the excess water in one, long swipe before burying her fingers into her hair and resting her elbows on her knees. Her best friend was likely on the verge of death, and she wouldn't be there for her last breath? She wouldn't be there to support her on her final moments?

Maybe this was all Riza really was. A heartless murderer who doesn't deserve to see life, not even as it leaves.

Even in Ishval, the gunshot would always make her blink, and in that tiny moment, life would fly away and be replaced by death. She killed thousands but didn't catch a glimpse of life. This, she decided, is hell. Hell is being lost in an endless cycle of murder and vengeance. One is murdered, one is avenged. One is avenged, one is murdered.

Wasn't that what Roy himself taught her? She remembered it quite clearly. It was at the market, on a warm yet wet Friday, when a huge 'bang' alerted the civilians of a fight. Rubble crashed onto the tents, evoking screams and cries from the people.

Riza desperately searched for Roy, squeezing between the people and calling his name. She ran and ran until her sandals stuck to stone and her face was slowly attracted to the floor like a magnet. In those conditions, she would be trampled upon until nothing was left of her, but luckily, just as her head was about to hit the ground, a big pair of hands settled on her waist and she flew up and onto a black-hair's shoulder - Roy's shoulder.

Instantly, Riza ducked down until her chin was flush against his head to attract less attention. The thing is, Roy was not a very tall man, but compared the elderly shopkeepers he was quite big. Now, with Riza on top of him, they weren't big. They were huge.

"Mr. Mustang, put me down! I can run by myself," she demanded, wincing as a piece of wood poking out of a tent scraped her thigh. MP's had already started gathering the civilians and keeping them at a safe distance, and soon, Roy gave one of them the girl on his shoulders and ran to the battle, despite her protests against it.

Seconds turned to minutes and there was still no sign of the young man. Most of the people had fled the market, but Riza remained with the MP, hoping one of the shouts in the distance were Roy's to prove that he was alive.

Finally, military cars rushed to the battle after being informed by the police and halted the fight. The shouts lowered to murmurs and a cloud of doubt hovered above the girl. Was Roy safe? Would something happen to him?

Without thinking, she ran across the ruined market and to the scene, only to be blocked by an officer's arm. Her eyes skimmed the devastated street, looking for Roy. He was dropped onto a rock with a puddle of blood under his left hand, smiling with the other hand fisted on his chest. In front of him, two men lay dead, and one was severely injured. Happily, after a quick interrogatory, Roy was allowed to go home.

For the whole way back, Riza did not say a word. Not to him. Not to the townspeople. Not to anyone. She walked a few steps behind him, not averting her eyes from the hole on his hand (or at least its location, since it was covered by a thin layer of bandages). At last, when they arrived in the small village, Roy asked her if she saw anything she liked in the market.

A shrug.

"Come on, there was surely at least one thing you liked."

Another shrug.

"You aren't going to say anything?"

Yet another shrug.

"Are you mad at me?"

A nod.

"You don't want a birthday present?"

A shrug.

"I have a present for you. I got it from one of the men."

Riza rolled her eyes and resumed her hiking, only to be stopped by his voice. This time, it apologized, the words pulling her towards him like a thread. Her breath caught on her throat and she exhaled sharply before shouting, "You should be sorry, idiot! Those people died! You could have been one of them!"

"No, I couldn't," Roy responded, wrapping his arms around her fragile body and pulling her towards his stomach. "They died because they are two separate groups who keep avenging their colleague's deaths. When one dies, the others immediately blame the opposing group and kill one of its members. If you think about it, this happens almost everywhere, you know."

"So why did you join the fight?" Riza questioned, craning her neck to look at him.

"Because one of the men had jewels and you needed a birthday present," he explained simply.

Surely, no one wants a stolen present, at least not Riza. She pushed him away to look straight into his eyes. "I don't want a stolen present. I'd rather not get anything."

"Of course not. You see, I didn't only steal these things for you. I also stole them to give your father. He had been talking about 'Red Stones' or something, and the stones look quite red."

Riza snorted and continued walking. "You took stones?"

"Not just any stones. I read somewhere that Red Stones are an alchemists' dream. If your father researches it and finds something out, he'll be stamped onto history. Think about it: you'll be able to finally go to school and live in a decent house."

The girl immediately felt a wave of discomfort strike her back and bit back a whimper. "You don't want my father to research," she muttered, being responded with a word somewhere between 'what' and 'why.' After swallowing the pain, she turned back and forced a grin onto her face. "He doesn't need them. I'd love it if you gave me all of the stones as a birthday gift. Every single one of them," she stressed.

Roy tried to complain but was shushed by a quiet request made by the girl. "If I tell you something, do you promise to keep quiet and not react? At all?"

"Well, it depends on -"

"Yes, or no," she interrupted, her voice not louder than a whisper. He nodded, so she calmed down her pounding heart and began. "My father -" There was another punch on her back, like a whip cutting through the flesh. "When my mother died, my father -" Another one, stronger than the last ones. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to change the topic to another secret she had been willing to share. "Every Friday, I -" There wasn't a whip this time, but flames. Her back started burning and she choked her words, alerting Roy that something was wrong.

"We should go home," he suggested, gently rubbing her back before picking her up. "If it's something hard to say, we can talk about it tonight."

"No, not tonight. Tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Okay, tomorrow morning."

That night, Riza was visited by her father, like she was every Friday. She pretended to be asleep, since maybe that would get him to leave, but was forced to open her eyes when Berthold locked the door and whispered that it was time.

What time? Two in the morning. She had spent the night awake, as always, planning ways to escape his little game. Every Friday since she first bled had been the same, but now her fear was bigger than ever. He had probably noticed she tried to tell Roy about his atrocities; the pain was probably his doing. When he tattooed her, on the morning after, he warned her that she would be punished if she told anyone about it. Was it a curse?

Probably.

Even though she wanted to ask about what had happened with Roy, or if he had given him the stones, she kept quiet as he played around with her body. She was in pain, she wanted to scream; ask for help, but Berthold had kept quite clear what would happen if she did so. The day before Roy arrived, he made a list of rules and consequences, and the one for screaming and waking Roy up was as simple as the young man's death.

In a low and firm tone, he demanded her to remove her clothes. This time, however, she managed to swallow her tears and shake her head. It had taken years for her to do so; the fear of what might happen if she did was bigger than the fear of what would happen if her clothes were removed.

"I order, you obey," he demanded, unzipping his pants. Once again, she shook her head, so he grabbed her wrist and squeezed it until her hand turned pale. He then repeated the question, but nothing changed. In one quick motion, her wrist snapped and a huge wave of pain wrapped itself around it.

Riza's eyes opened with a jolt and she immediately twitched her wrist, searching for the pain. After feeling nothing and realizing it was just a flashback, she sat up, trying to remember what had happened.

Her head burned with the effects of the alcohol and her throat stung due to the rain. As her memories of the night before returned, a bell rang in Riza's head and she instantly called for her puppy, ignoring the probably asleep men down the hallway. "Hayate!" She tried again, and again, and again, until there was a loud knock on her door.

"Yes…?" she wondered, bringing her knees to her chest and mentally begging for it not to be Berthold. Who knows? Maybe _everything_ was just a dream and he was still alive.

If last night was a Friday, then today is Saturday, she reasoned, then quickly turned on the bedside lamp and checked the clock ticking on the wall. Eighty-thirty. Sighing in relief, she consented whoever was outside to come in.

Slowly, the door opened and the woman heard the sound of clattering metal ere the door closed again. Before she could make any assumptions, a dirty black and white puppy lept onto her bed and barked joyfully at his owner, who immediately picked him up and squeezed him between her chest and arms.

The door opened once again and Fuery stood next to the frame, smiling at the little dog. "He woke Breda and I up, so I was taking care of him until you woke up," he explained.

"Thank you, he can be quite a pain sometimes." The Sergeant shrugged and smiled, but wasn't able to leave as Hawkeye's voice kept him there. "Where's the Colonel?" she babbled, setting the dog down and clearing her throat after noticing how bad she sounded.

"Sleeping. He arrived about an hour ago and was so tired he managed to sleep with Breda screaming because of Hayate."

Riza chuckled hoarsely and slid out of bed. She noticed she wasn't wearing all the clothes she was wearing the night before; the muddy uniform was gone and her tight, brown top was covered by a long and damp dress shirt. She wanted to ask who had done that so she could shoot him in his nose, but for now, her Colonel was more worth her concern.

Fuery guided the Lieutenant over to the men's room, where Roy was tossed onto a bed, his body still fully covered in uniform, and picked up Hayate to make sure he wouldn't wake him up.

Riza walked over to his bed and brushed some hair off his ears before whispering a 'thank you' and allowing the words to fly into his head and reach his dreams before standing back up and smiling pitifully at Breda, who snored while groggily rubbing his hairy stomach.

In the kitchen, where Riza was haphazardly cooking breakfast with anything she could find, she decided to ask Fuery about the three who had left the night before. "Did Havoc call?" She inquired, not sure if she really wanted news or not.

"Not yet, but Falman did. He said they drove all the way to Surd since the hospitals here are only makeshift tents for now. When he had called, Rebecca had just entered the room and was apparently unconscious."

"Do you know what happened to her?" Riza dropped some eggs onto a plate and placed it on the table in front of the Sergeant.

There was a moment of silence except for the ticking clock and tired breaths. Finally, Fuery spoke. "Not much. I came here with Falman to set up the cottage. Havoc arrived a few hours before you with Lieutenant Catalina. When he arrived, she could still walk - though weakly - and was only coming every once in a while. He laid her on that room so she could rest and told us not to tell anyone since she didn't want to attract a lot of attention to herself."

"Was it smoke?" Riza questioned, setting a finished sandwich in front of her together with a small cup of coffee she had also fixed Fuery.

"Probably," he guessed, carefully sipping the hot beverage.

"What about me? Last thing I remember I was out in the rain."

"Breda and I were also confused since we were drinking in your room, not ours. It was probably the Colonel when he arrived.\"

The woman choked on her coffee and banged it onto the table, though a bit rougher than she intended. "I did not sleep in the rain. I would never do such a stupid thing."

"It stopped raining at around three," a different but familiar voice added. The two soldiers turned and were surprised to see their superior leaning against a wall. "I took you in when I arrived, then dragged those drunk men to our room."

Mustang was expressionless, to say the least. His voice was low and drowsy and his already small eyes were millimeters apart. "Would you mind if I took your coffee, Lieutenant?" he asked, rubbing his eyes and not being able to contain a yawn.

"Yes, of course I would, sir," she replied, striding towards him and raising his shoulder to fix his posture. "You slept for an hour and a half, coffee would not be good for you. Go back to sleep."

Roy sighed and rubbed his eyes again, trying to open them as much as he could. "I'm fine, I need to talk to you anyway."

"About Rebecca? I mean, Lieutenant Catalina? Don't worry about that, I already know as much as I want." Riza turned to Fuery to see he was loudly slurping his coffee, his cheeks stained by red. She raised her eyebrows at him so he immediately apologized and stopped making the sound, nervously muttering something into the mug. "Fuery, keep Hayate in the kitchen for me, will you? I'm going to take the Colonel back to your room."


	7. Green, the Relief

**Hi...**

**I know, I know, it's been almost a month! I'm really sorry, I had exams and other stuff going on.**

**To compensate, though, I found myself an amazing beta-reader, Catastrophic-Catculator, and even though we weren't able to work much on this chapter I'm looking forward to receiving her feedback!**

**Once again, sorry for the delay, I'll update more regularly now, I promise!**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or gain any profit from this fanfic other than writing practice and improved self-esteem ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ**

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**Chapter 7:  
****Green, the Relief**

**sometimes your heart feels as light as a parakeet's feather.  
it is only then that you may considered yourself ****relieved.**

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For the whole day, Roy slept. He slept and snored and dreamed, tucked in the coziness of the old bed. At night, just after the sun hid behind the trees and ruins, Havoc called. His voice was smiling, his words filled with relief. "Rebecca's in a stable condition, the doctors are already allowing visitors," he explained, causing Riza's lips to quirk in a grin.

"Is she awake?" she asked, unconsciously tapping a happy finger against the phone receiver. "May I talk to her?"

Riza heard him calling a 'Becky' and her heart warmed up. It felt good to know her friend had someone who cared so much for her. Voicing her thoughts, she mentioned, "She's lucky to have you."

"You can't really say anything, Lieutenant. Yesterday you called the chief Roy," he teased, and she mentally kicked herself for letting that slip. Because she only had such breakdowns when she called him Roy, it came out naturally, and she didn't notice until this exact moment.

"I'm joking," he continued,"you can call the Corporal whatever you want since he's below you. Anyway, you don't have to come now, don't rush."

The woman thanked her informant and hung up. She had been preparing some soup for the men (including Falman, who had just returned), and when it was good enough she poured it into bowls and took them on a tray to the room, together with some bread.

"Will someone please wake the Colonel up?" Riza scolded, practically dropping the dinner onto the nightstand before turning on the lamps. In the blink of an eye, Roy tucked his head under the blankets and groaned some insults at the light, which were quickly redirected towards Breda when he found the courage to sit on top of his superior.

"Wake up, boss," he muttered, taking a bowl. "It's nighttime already."

There were a few more angry murmurs until Roy was able to poke his arm out. "Lieutenant, gloves," he ordered, struggling to breathe. "Now."

Riza, in turn, did not move. She was pretty sure his gloves were in his jacket pocket and said so when he asked for them for the second time. He dropped his arm, probably to think, and raised it again, taking a solution with it. "It's on your - no, my - no, your…" he paused, once again dropping his heavy limb, and confessed to the bed. "It's on the shirt you're wearing.'

With a quick 'oh,' Riza, reached into the pocket and pulled out his gloves. She had felt something weird before, but she thought it was just a handkerchief.

"Fried Breda?" Roy asked laboriously once the woman had finished putting on his glove. As if on cue, Breda leaped off the bed and grabbed a bowl for himself, sitting on Fuery's bed (which was right next to Roy's). The red-cheeked owner was, once again, loudly slurping his soup while his Lieutenant played tug of war with the blanket against her superior.

…

"Where are you going?"

Riza sighed and turned back, tugging at her military jacket to free it of any extra dust. "Shopping, then Surd," she clarified. "Your shirt is on my bed."

"What the hell are you doing in Surd?" Roy inquired, putting his bowl down on the coffee table.

"Lieutenant Catalina was hospitalized there yesterday. She's finally accepting visits."

Roy's eyes widened. "She was hospitalized? When I picked Hayate up, I was told she was fine and only needed to rest!"

"Hayate? What does Hayate have to do with her?"

Roy asked if he could go too, and after being given her permission, he promised to explain everything on the way. Sitting on the front seat, Riza did her best to ignore the strong odor of battle sweat coming from them both and began the drive.

The first part of it was silent but not awkward. They were used to each other's presence, so the heavy breaths and occasional fidgets were nothing. In fact, it was even natural and better than a conversation. Riza liked being wrapped in this silence, it was an easy way to appreciate every second of their time together; a way in which she could pay attention to his every quirk and habit.

When they reached the highway and got stuck in the typical traffic, Riza relaxed and laid back, cueing Roy's explanation.

While the car moved inch by inch, Roy described the incident. Apparently, Rebecca was in a mission in Liore when it was first damaged, so she finished it quickly and took a leave to check on Central. She arrived the morning before the battle and was on her way to headquarters when the invasion began. Immediately, she went to Riza's building and broke into her apartment, picking up the puppy and running out as fast as she could. Unfortunately, a bomb was dropped just as she left, and she ended up inhaling way to much smoke.

"How do you know all that?" Riza wondered, lightly stepping on the pedal to move an inch closer to the car before her, which had just done the same.

"Like I said," Roy mumbled, "the Sergeant who was taking care of Hayate while you didn't show up is one of her friends."

Riza was about to ask something else but Roy interrupted her words by reaching towards the steering wheel and honking loudly before huffing, poking his head out the window and pathetically ordering the other drivers to go faster.

The woman covered her face and banged her head onto the steering wheel, summoning one more honk. The tip of her ears burned in embarrassment and anger, so while Roy breathed, just before he started screaming again, she grabbed his ear and gave it a quick but firm tug.

Roy complained, rubbing his pained lobe, then smiled at Riza's expression. "See how I've learned, Lieutenant? I broke your poker face," he announced, giving her nose a light tap with his index finger. Much to his disappointment, Riza did not smile back. She continued with her angry frown and replied in a low and serious tone, unlike his. "It's not the first time, Colonel."

"And hopefully not the last. God I love the face you made when we first-"

A flawlessly loud honk sounded through the street, caused by a flawlessly red Riza. "Shut the hell up."

"What? Why? I was going to say the face you made when we first saw Hayate. What were you thinking?" He smirked, so she ignored the question and thanked whoever was up there for making the traffic better at that exact moment.

Finally, they arrived in the city and drove to a store near the hospital. It was not the coldest of nights, so Riza removed her jacket, sparking jealousy in Roy. "Then go get yourself a shirt," she chuckled, folding the garment and hanging it onto her arm.

"I don't have any money. I left everything in the north." Despite what he had just said, Roy checked the shirts on a nearby rack as if to say 'I wish I could have this, but I don't live in Surd. Would you mind buying them for me, Lieutenant?'

Much to Riza's wallet's disappointment, she saw right through his actions and offered to pay, catching a glimpse of his smile before hiding behind a curtain to try an outfit.

Three shirts. Five shirts. Eight shirts. All of them had a too big of a dip at the back. Before she knew it, Riza was stepping on a carpet of colorful shirts, wrinkling them under her feet. She should have expected that: it was summer and they were in a more trendy store. How didn't she look at the store and think, 'there won't be anything here for me,' was out of her understanding.

"Lieutenant, give me your wallet," requested a familiar voice from outside. "I'm going to pay."

Out of pure reflex, Riza grabbed the first shirt she saw and covered herself before answering. "It's in here. Keep the receipt so you can pay me back later."

"I'm broke, Miss Hawkeye," Roy complained as he grabbed the small pouch being passed through the curtain. Even though only her hand was visible, he saw a few strands of hair dance as she closed herself again. "You should keep your hair down more often. It's pretty."

Riza's cheeks flared up and she instantly started babbling her counter-arguments, only to be quieted by a hand poking into the dressing room, holding a few shirts. "It's from the men's section. I thought you might be having trouble with a shirt."

With a thank you, the woman took the hangers and slipped a dress shirt on, satisfied with its coverage. Since she was already wearing decent pants, Riza stepped out of the room after a quick glance at the mirror and walked towards the cashier, picking a pair of boots on her way.

"Wallet," she demanded, extending her hand. Roy slapped it onto her palm and gave the items to the man behind the counter, humming lightly and not noticing Riza's raised eyebrows.

"Give it back," she scolded, shutting her wallet to look at the Colonel.

Roy smirked, putting his hands in his pocket. "Give what back?"

"You know exactly what it is," she prompted in a threatening tone. "Show me your hands."

The man removed his hands, revealing a folded piece of paper. "This?" he checked, unfolding it and smiling at the content. "Is it for sale? I would love to buy it."

Riza snatched the picture and shoved it into her wallet, shooting him a glare. When she was done paying (though she did not bother checking the receipt and considered it a welcome back gift) they go back into the car and went straight to the hospital.

The picture Roy had taken filled Riza's mind on the way to the room. She knew why he wanted to have it: that was probably their only one with the whole unit other than the official ones, where they had to be serious and formal.

Any other pictures Roy had been with his sisters, and Riza… well, she would rather not talk about them (however, I can say they would bark a lot if they were videos). With that, all that was left were the pictures she had left in her abandoned house: two or three portraits of her and Roy on special occasions.

One of them, Riza's favorite, was on the day after Roy's birthday, on a warm day in May. Riza had no idea it was his anniversary, and only noticed it when she saw him at a phone booth thanking several people and saying 'sixteen' to others.

It was a Wednesday, which meant he was going to have lessons in the basement. When it was past the time Roy was supposed to meet with his master, Berthold ordered his daughter to look for him.

So off she went, tiredly walking through the empty streets of her small town. The snow was melting slowly, leaving brown patches of mud on the dirt road. Because of her sandals, Riza had to hop right over them, since getting them dirty would mean extra laundry and no shoes for a while.

Finally, she arrived at a bar she knew Roy went whenever he had a chance, and there he was, in a rusty booth, on the phone.

Once in there with him, she listened, trying to solve this puzzle with missing pieces. "What's going on?" she asked once he was done.

Roy smiled and ruffled her short, blond hair. "Nothing important," he simplified. "Your father is waiting, right?"

The girl nodded and opened the door so they could leave, though she had not yet given up on finding out Roy's little secret.

For the whole day, she guessed and chirped on his ear. Since he kept the red stones, then maybe he had sixteen stones and was being congratulated for obtaining them. Maybe he had learned sixteen transmutation circles. Maybe he was planning to spend sixteen years in her house. Maybe that was too much time, but sure, it could happen!

At last, when night sank into her village and Roy was dismissed, he came up to her room. She was reading a small book, her soft lips moving with every word she deciphered. To this day, Roy didn't know she owned books with a written story, and from what he knew her mother had bought all of her picture books.

Usually, their lessons would be on ripped pieces of paper Roy would secretly steal from Berthold-from one of his notebooks-since he didn't have one of his own and used chalk on the walls and floor instead.

"What are you reading?" he finally asked, sitting down at her desk. Probably to pretend she was too focused on her reading to reply, Riza did not speak, continuing her low mutters as she devoured each paragraph. "Earth to Riza," the young man continued, leaning forward and clapping his hands. In the end, he had to throw a sock at her to finally get her to look at him.

"Where did you get that book?" Roy questioned, rising to get the sock.

Riza shut the book and showed him the cover. It said, _Ten ways to run away from home Without Getting Caught_. "I bought it at the market with the money you gave me. It's used, so it was cheaper."

In shock, Roy snatched the book and asked her too many questions for her to handle. A knot formed in her throat and it ached to swallow around it as tears puddled at her eyes. The thing is, since her father broke her wrist she knew he would get close to killing her someday if she did anything wrong. He didn't get the bone checked, and it was more than embarrassing to lie to Roy-to say that she fell off the bed on it-so his aunt would pay her appointment.

Saturday dawns were also getting worse. Berthold grew more aggressive, to the point that he would stuff her mouth with a rag and tape it closed, despite her gags. Now, she was done with it. No more suffering, no more pain, no more Berthold.

Roy stressed one of his most frequent questions, "Why do you want to run away?" and even though Riza wanted to tell him; to have someone she could rely on, she knew she wouldn't be able to because of the damned curse flowing in her blood.

Apparently, Roy noticed she was in the verge of tears, for he turned the book to the last, blank pages and took a pen from the pocket of his dress shirt. "It's probably easier to write," he suggested, handing her the item.

Riza looked at him with a pained expression and shook her head. "I can't write," she murmured, a tear escaping her eye. With a soft smile, the man encouraged her and called it a summative, then promised to help with anything she needed.

Then maybe it was a formative, but that doesn't really matter.

Riza swallowed again and began her messy script, slowly drawing each character with her poorly-placed hand. First, she produced an _M_, but scribbled over it and wrote a _D_ next to it. After the _D _came an _A_, she made sure it was right by listening to Roy reading it, recurring the vowel until she wrote another _D_.

Using the technique her teacher taught her, Riza played the pen on the paper after the word to mark space, then memorized how much space it took and began scrawling her next sentence.

A few minutes passed and she finally put the pen down. She noticed the way Roy starred in horror at her words and quickly muttered an apology for her handwriting. Of course, that was not the problem. Neither was her spelling skills. The words, _Dad _reip _me_, cut right through his heart, and he found himself with no idea of how to react for one of the first times in his life.

Due to Roy's expression, Riza double-checked her sentence and with a low 'oh' fixed the word she misspelled, proudly setting the pen on her lap before looking up at her teacher again.

All he managed to let out was a 'liar,' which was quickly responded with rapid sniffs and more tears, followed by a hand coming up to cover her face. Still looking at the words, Roy fully climbed onto her bed and wrapped his arm around her head, pulling her into a tight hug.

They sat there for what seemed like forever, the only sounds filling the room being the girl's sniffs and sudden gasps, all muffled by Roy's arm. He felt like crying, too. He was studying with a monster. A demon. A sadist.

Finally, Roy grew worried and asked if she was okay with answering questions. Riza nodded, though somewhat reluctant, and began the interrogation.

The first question was 'when,' and was easily answered with 'Fridays.' The second one was more of a double-check but was much harder to reply. "Every Friday?" Roy wondered, his eyebrows raised quizzically.

This time, Riza couldn't speak, so she simply nodded. The questionnaire went on and on, and the more she opened up the more drops trailed down her cheeks. By the end, Roy was already making arrangements in his head but didn't offer anything before she confessed that she didn't know what he could do to help.

"Would you, for some reason, trust me enough to sleep in my room on Fridays?" he suggested nervously, then quickly added that she could have the bed.

"I don't want to be a burden," she babbled, wiping a tear off her eye. Deep inside, however, she wished he was really okay with that and would insist that she went.

Much to her relief, he did exactly like she wanted to, assuring that it would be a pleasure for him to make sure she felt safe. "Like your adopted older brother," he compared, smiling proudly.

"Not brother," Riza deadpanned. "I don't need a brother."

"Then a sister?"

The girl shot her gaze up at him, surprised. "You're a girl?" she questioned, clearly not getting his joke.

"No, I was just joking." Roy laid back on the pillows and she soon followed suit, resulting in a small head fight over who got most of the cushion. When it was over, he resumed the conversation. "Do you know what a gay person is?"

Riza shook her head, so he took some time to explain, together with a few more personal questions she would ask every once in a while (things like whether he loved someone, which was calmly answered with "Yes, a girl back home.").

Soon, it started getting late. Before he left, however, the man gave her a soft kiss on the cheek, leaving a red spot there and another one on the opposite side of her face (though he had no idea of how that got there).


	8. Red Once More

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or gain any profit from this fanfic other than writing practice and improved self-esteem ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ**

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**I would like to thank my amazing beta-reader, Catastrophic-Catculator, for the feedback that made this chapter possible!**

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**Chapter Eight:**

**Red**

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They knocked on the door and came in after being called. Slowly, Riza tiptoed into the room but then relaxed when her eyes confirmed that Rebecca was still somewhat awake. Havoc averted his gaze from the brunette's, nodded a greeting to the two and waited for them to sit comfortably on a nearby couch to start speaking.

"I told you not to rush, Lieutenant," he complained, leaning back on his armchair. "And you even brought the chief with you?"

Riza shifted on her seat. "I not here for-"

"Sorry if we interrupted your romantic rendezvous," Roy started to say over her, only to be interrupted.

"I'm not here for you," she completed, ending her sentence with a 'who says romantic rendezvous in a normal conversation' and earning a shrug in return. "I came because I was worried about Rebecca."

"And I didn't ask for you to come, mom," the mentioned woman muttered in response.

"You're welcome," Riza replied, "I wasted a lot of time and money to come here."

The conversation started growing into an argument until the Colonel threw a (figurative) bomb by announcing, "Alright, ladies, don't pull your hairs. We're at a hospital, your little screeches will get us in trouble."

In pure reflex, Riza palmed his cheek as Rebecca choked the comment in. "Sir, if a fight breaks out in here the only thing I would pull would be my gun and the only screech heard would be that of the door when I throw my victim at it. Women don't pull each other's hair, we know how much effort is put into it."

During her 'speech,' Roy noticed she was getting awfully close and shoved her face away, stamping an 'it was a joke' onto it. The woman's cheeks reddened at the contact, causing her to immediately scoot back and change the subject.

For the rest of the visit, they talked about less interesting stuff (as Rebecca would describe it). It was when Riza left that things became more interesting. She probably noticed her Colonel wanted some alone time with the two because she waited patiently outside for a few minutes, until Roy emerged from the room. His eyes were distant, focused on a point no one could map. Riza looked at his eyebrows. Unlike usual, they were straight and emotionless. Looking down to her last clue-his lips-she noticed a small curve on it, almost unnoticeable.

On their trot back to the car, there were butterflies. They surrounded them, pulling at the Lieutenant's hair and tugging at the Colonel's jacket. The butterflies entered through any hole they could find, but once in the soldiers' stomach, there was nowhere else to go. They were stuck in there, fluttering and tickling their inner walls, warming up their organs.

Two of them, two very mischievous ones, dared to float up to their hearts. It flapped against it, causing it to pump wildly and send the blood to their cheeks.

"Why are you blushing?" Roy finally asked, trying to casually looking away.

"I'm not," Riza declared in response, also averting her gaze.

They walked across the hallway, their speed increasing with their hearts. It got to a point where they were almost sprinting towards the exit.

"It's funny," Roy began as they reached the vehicle.

"What is?" Riza opened the door, sliding into the seat.

"Since Ishval, we never really got to-" Roy stopped to open the door, quickly sitting down and starting the car.

"Kiss?" Riza completed, covering her heated cheeks.

The car stopped, but their blood didn't. It circled their faces, bringing the pound of their hearts to their ears. Roy stammered miserably, mentioning his conversation with Havoc and Rebecca by continuously tripping over his words. He still couldn't meet her eyes, though. Those mahogany orbs would turn him into a burnt tomato.

"So?" Riza prompted, mindlessly drawing circles on her cheek with a trembling index finger.

Roy shook his head and grabbed her cheeks. "Come on, how old are we? Twelve?" After catching a glimpse of Riza's shy smile, he connected her lips to his, happy to feel her warm skin playing along. Joy sparked in the woman, and happily, it wasn't nearly as awkward as the first time their lips met.

On that day, the streets were packed with lights, the houses filling with family members as they arrived for New Year. Riza could hear them gossiping and chuckling from her room, so she would often throw the dusty pillow over her head to try and get some sleep.

New Years had been the worst time of the year since her mother died. Her father probably didn't even know what day it was, and even though she thought she would have fun with Roy she heard that he would be going home for the holiday in a week. That meant no more reading lessons for a few weeks and two in the morning nightmares every Saturday.

Fortunately, the sleep-in-Roy's-room plan had worked. On the first night, as soon as she heard Berthold's footsteps enter the empty room, Riza's eyes brimmed with tears. What he would do when he sees that she's not in her bed made her tense up and almost yell when he shut the door to her room a bit harder than usual.

His feet pounded towards Roy's bedroom, but luckily he lightly tapped on the wooden door instead of banging it.

"Sir?" Roy sat up instantly, stealing a glance at Riza, who was curled up in the blankets they had removed from Roy's bed, shivering and pale.

"Have you seen my daughter?" Berthold questioned, his voice creeping under the door and wrapping said daughter tightly, to a point where she could barely breathe.

Without giving a direct response, Roy asked for the reason and was relieved to hear a 'nevermind' in return.

It was only when the footsteps faded downstairs that Riza noticed she had forgotten to breathe and choked on air, trying to catch up with the overdue breaths. When she did, she looked up at her protector. Due to the lack of light, the girl couldn't see much, but the silhouette she saw gleaming with moonlight was one she felt safe with, not like the one she usually sees on Saturday dawns.

Filled with gratitude, Riza stood up and hugged the young man, who happily returned the gesture. "Don't worry about that jerk," he comforted. "He just wants you to feel bad."

"And it's working," Riza nonchalantly muttered against his shoulder, her voice no louder than a whisper.

Roy pushed her away to check her expression. "Don't you think it's about time we report him?"

"I don't want to," Riza explained, sinking back into her makeshift bed. "I know he's done horrible things, but he's still my father."

Roy hummed his response before laying down. For a brief moment, they were lost in their own thoughts, until Riza closed her eyes and turned her thoughts into dreams.

The morning after was the worst. Riza could hear her father pacing around the house, searching for his lost daughter, and immediately jumped up to try and wake Roy up. He murmured lazily at her efforts but realized what was going on when a 'Elizabeth Hawkeye' echoed through the house.

"It's not Elizabeth," Riza grumbled at the door while Roy sat up. He chuckled softly and cleared his throat before sliding out of bed, already trying to figure a way to sneak Riza out of his room without getting her in trouble. It was when it hit her. "What if he goes tonight instead?" she whispered in realization, shooting her head back towards Roy.

"I won't let him, idiot," he replied, grabbing a hooded coat from his wardrobe and handing it to her. "Remind me, where were you last night?"

With a smirk, Riza made up an excuse and sent it to him, being answered with a nod and a few details on their plan. She slipped the coat on and cracked the door open, searching for her father, and when she heard no one the girl slipped her hood on and rushed down the squeaky planks of the hallway, wincing at the noise. What wasn't;t in their plan, however, was the loud steps following her tiny ones down the hallway, trying to catch up with her.

Riza's heart was thumping louder with every step, but she kept running despite her father's heavy footsteps just behind her as she stumbled down the stairs. The front door was eleven leaps away, she assumed, counting as she paced. As soon as she got to one, however, a hand gripped her hood and tried to pull it back. She struggled against it, panting heavily, but it was no use and the fabric was ripped out of her head.

"Riza,"

The sudden voice made her shudder: she didn't dare look back.

"It's me, calm down," it continued, and the fear from before was replaced by relief.

"Mr. Mustang," Riza heaved, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. Her heart slowly settled on a softer beat and her breaths came out quieter. "What are you doing? You scared the hell out of me," she murmured as she turned around, the shock still running through her veins.

"Your father's outside, I saw him from my window," the young man explained. "Change of plans, we'll just wait for him to return."

And so they did. The more the old clock in the living room ticked the more Riza wanted to cry. Why? She didn't know. Her legs were as shaky as jelly, even as she sat on the grey sofa. It used to be white, she had told Roy, but that was when her mother was still alive.

Finally, there was a stomp outside and the creek of the door. The girl's breath caught in her throat and her nails dug into her knees, leaving red cuts that would stain her skin for the next few hours. One second probably went by, but for Riza, years had been wasted. She presumed that, if she searched deeply, she would find the wrinkles of age, but there were no mirrors in the living room. Her only sense of time was the ticking clock, but its tick wasn't louder than her breaths, and for a moment, she wondered if the clock was counting accurately.

The opened door sent a soft yet cold breeze towards the girl, but she paid no heed to it. The bomb blocking a section of it from inside the doorframe was more worth her dread: it could explode at any minute.

Dropping her chin to her collarbone, Riza clenched her knees tighter as the angry footsteps hammered towards her. She heard two quick feet leave the room, but they were too soft to be her father's, so she assumed Roy had been ordered to get out.

A big hand touched her head again, but it wasn't Roy's like before. This time, it was actually Berthold grasping her hair, pulling it towards the back of the sofa and forcing Riza to look up at him as a tears filled her eyes. She was about to apologize when his voice sounded through the room, filling it with a huge 'where were you.'

It was now or never, she had an excuse and all she needed was to say it. No stutters, no stammers, it's not hard, right? Her voice would define whether the bomb would blast or not, and something as precious as her sanity probably depended on her answer.

"Where were you?" Berthold snapped again, finally letting go of her head. She was running out of time, but her excuse had slipped out of her memory. Fortunately, it was at that moment that a bird bumped into her window: she saw it from the corner of her eyes. "Riverbed," she yelled, in a happier tone than she intended. Her lips dared quirk up for a second, but she pushed them down again by biting her cheeks.

"What were you doing there at two in the morning?" he growled, lifting his hand into the air to threaten to slap her.

"I was… doing the laundry," Riza tested, stealing a glance to check his expression. He was not falling for it. "… but I fell into the river and had to wait for my clothes to dry," she continued.

"I spent hours looking for you, Riza! Do you know how worried I was?!"

In a jolt, Riza stood up onto the sofa so she could look him in the eye. "Worried? Worried? Do you honestly think I'd fall for such a stupid trick? You weren't worried, goddammit, you just wanted to hurt me again!"

What did she get as an answer? Well, that's easy: the hand in the air ended up touching her cheek rather roughly, leaving a red spot. Not a red spot like the one Roy had left: that one was a love-filled spot. This one, however, was filled with anger.

I sometimes laugh at how funny it is that two opposite emotions are the exact same color. It makes it hard to read someone: you may be trying to flirt but end up raging the person instead of flattering them. I like to write thinking about colors, but whenever red pops up on the random color generator I wonder if the website means love red or anger red. It makes my head red due to my overheated brain.

Oh, shoot, now I don't know if my flirt was red with love, anger or confusion. I should change my pickup lines to simpler and more tolerant ones.

Anyway, at that particular moment, one could clearly tell that Berthold was red with anger and had spread that emotion to his poor daughter by leaving that red stain on her cheek. "If I told you I was worried, I was, and that's it," he mumbled. "You don't talk like that to me, Elizabeth."

Filled with fear, Riza shut her mouth and carefully stepped out of the furniture. Berthold was about to scold her again when she dashed to the kitchen, where she assumed Roy was. Muffled by the closed door and heavy pants, the enraged father's voice called her back. Riza stayed with her back pressed against the door, one hand holding the knob in place to prevent any attempt to break into the small room and the other one on her chest in a struggle to calm her heart.

Suddenly, a quiet voice spoke her name. As soon as her eyes recognized the owner of it, she allowed her lips to smile. When he walked towards her, her smile grew even bigger and the evil voices from the other side of the door seemed to disappear.

"Are you alright?" Roy wondered, kneeling as she nodded. "I should call the police," he decided when he saw the mark on her face, but still waiting for her approval.

She shook her head.

"What do you mean?" he whispered harshly. "What he's doing is illegal, you should have reported it months ago."

There was a heavy knock on the door. Riza gripped the knob tighter and squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if whoever is up there would give her protection. "Eli-Riza, may we talk?" the softness in Berthold's voice was something that startled both of the kids in the kitchen, but they didn't put their guard down. "I know you hate me, you have every reason in the world for it, but can we please sit down and talk?"

"If you're trying to make me feel bad for screaming at you, then you're failing, you bipolar moron!" she answered, her knuckles white around the handle.

This went on for a while, but the more they spoke the more Riza noticed the small lump in her throat grow bigger. Assuming that was not his place, Roy started to walk away, but Riza gripped his shirt with her free hand. "Roy, please," she begged. "What should I do?"

Her mind had shattered into millions of pieces. Questions flooded her head, only to be washed away by voices screaming at each other. What if she opened the door? What if he was actually starting to realize what was wrong? What if he was trying to gain her trust only to crush it again? What is trust? Who does she trust? Why?

Why. Why wasn't she allowing Berthold to walk into the kitchen? Why was she holding the door closed as if her life depended on it? What did Roy think about that? If he could give her a word of advice, what would he say? Would he softly whisper it into her ear or would he dig it into her soul?

"Let him in," Roy finally consented, placing his hand over her to loosen her grip. "I know my master. He knows what he's doing."

"I know my father more, Mr. Mustang, he's trying to trick me! I told you what he did!"

"Yes, you did, and he probably noticed," he suggested, turning the doorknob. "What if he reflected on it?"

"What side are you on?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Roy sighed, looked her deep in her eyes, and slowly opened the door. As the man outside started his way in, the boy squeezed out to the living room and went up to his room to leave them in privacy.

There was a weird feeling in the air, Riza could almost smell it. Was it… shame? Was Berthold ashamed of what he did? No, no way, he's the incarnation of the devil, he wouldn't have feelings. "Riza," he began, sitting across from her on the floor. She immediately looked away. "Riza, listen to me, please."

"Why would I? You tried to kill me so many times, hurt me so many times," the girl spat, trying to throw her tears away with her words. "Why the hell would I listen to you?!"

That did it. The man returned to his usual persona, throwing a 'because I am your father and if it weren't for me you wouldn't exist!' at her like a cannonball.

"And? Maybe you'd rather have it like that," she cried in return, dropping onto the floor. "I know what you did to my mother. I know why she left. I know it all, idiot!"

"Your mother left because she joined the military. I did nothing to her and you know it."

Riza dared steal a glance, but was not happy with it. His eyes, usually blank with tiredness, were flaming with rage. She swallowed the sight, however, and continued. "Yes, you did! You ignored us for years, living in that stinky basement! God, I wish I had gone with her!"

"If you had gone with her, you would be dead!" he barked again, silencing the young girl and causing her to throw her counter-argument in a quieter voice.

"Isn't that what you want? Isn't that why you gave me the drugs you call medicine? Isn't that why you continued to hurt me? Isn't that why you put a stupid algorithm on my back and kept it a secret it with a stupid curse?

"Riza, I-"

"No, you're not sorry, you're just acting as if you are because Mr. Mustang can hear you, but when he leaves for the holidays it will all go back to normal! Fridays? I'll spend those in my room, crying like a baby because I know what's about to happen. Saturdays? I'll spend those in bed, trying to get rid of the taste of the dirty rag you stuff me with and planning my escape."

There was no answer for that, only a sigh and a red atmosphere. Red with shame. The man who had all the power in the house was finally showing a regretful, weaker side.

"When you first bled," he started after a moment, fidgeting with his fingers. "I didn't know what to do. I went out with a friend of mine who also had a daughter and ended up drunk. When I got home I didn't know what I had done until the next day. I know you won't forgive me-you can't, and I can't forgive myself either, but-"

"So why did you continue? In three months I learned how it feels like to go through hell, and I'm still only thirteen. Why didn't you talk to Mr. Mustang? Why didn't you ask him for advice? I don't believe you, you've been touching me since long before I bled, and when Mr. Mustang decided to move in you threatened to kill him should I tell him. Don't you dare use that excuse."

"I continued because I had no idea of how to apologize. I've been wanting to have this conversation with you since then, but because I couldn't I continued."

"You honestly thought 'oh, I already took her virginity, so I'll just continue from now on. What does she have to lose?' You think you can simply apologize for doing what you did to me?"

Trying to calm her down, Berthold drove his hand to her hair to brush her messy bangs away from her eye, only to have it swatted away. "Don't touch me, you monster," Riza snarled. "You've had more than enough."


	9. Purple, the Nostalgia

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or gain any profit from this fanfic other than writing practice and improved self-esteem ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ**

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**I would like to thank my amazing beta-reader, Catastrophic-Catculator, for making this chapter possible!**

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**Chapter Nine:  
****Purple, the Nostalgia**

**sometimes a single occasion triggers so many memories your mind is painted a soft tone of purple.  
****it is only then that you may consider a moment nostalgic**

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By the time the two got back to the cottage, it was around four in the morning. Immediately, Roy opened the door to get a good night's sleep, but his Lieutenant stopped him. "Sir, you have slept for a whole day," she pointed out, walking in before him. "You won't be tired."

"Thank you for the reminder, Lieutenant. I really wanted to know," he mumble as he rolled his eyes, emphasising his sarcasm. After hanging their coat and wiping off the excess dirt on their shoes, the two waved a silent goodnight and went to their designated rooms, one to expect a happy puppy and the other one to see a young Sergeant sleeping on the floor since his bed seemed to be occupied.

As presumed, Roy was wide awake by the time the men started waking up. Boring was not the correct word to define his night, but he sure didn't like it. For hours he twisted and turned in his bed, trying to get at least a second of sleep, but it wasn't worth it. He then tried playing cards but remembered everyone was asleep and wouldn't enjoy being woken up to entertain him, ending up thinking for the rest of the night about whatever a thirty-two-year-old Colonel thinks about when he's bored.

On Sunday night, during a dinner thankfully cooked by Fuery (who knew what he was doing), they started making plans for the return to headquarters. Falman had gone ahead and ordered new uniforms since all of them were covered in mud and dirt and Breda had reported to Eastern and Central Headquarters that Lieutenant Catalina and Lieutenant Havoc were injured and wouldn't make it on Monday.

"Wait a minute," Roy snapped, banging his fork onto his plate a little too loud. "Why does Havoc get to pretend to be injured? I don't want to go to work either!"

Of course, first came a disappointed groan from each soldier, then an answer was given by the pretender himself. "Rebecca's in between life and death, I can't just ignore her and go to work. If she gets worse and I'm called in the middle of the day, the higher-ups will know something's up."

"But the frat laws don't ap-" he stopped mid-sentence, realization dawning upon him and widening his lips into a grin. "You mean you two have something going on?"

More groans, but louder, and accompanied by several face-planks. Yes, they knew Roy had spent two years in the middle of nothing, but he should have noticed the way they were acting around each other. It was obvious that they were more than friends from the moment Riza told him Havoc had taken Rebecca to the hospital and was going to spend the night there.

"At least I have a wife."

The woman was cut out of her thoughts by Havoc's joke. Clearly, he was jumping into conclusions, but a small voice told her that Rebecca would last more than his former girlfriends. Riza put her cup down and wiped her orange juice mustache before anyone noticed. She had seen the small traces of blond hair growing above her lip and the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to that. "Do you actually want to settle down already?" she wondered, tucking her folded napkin back under the plate.

Her question was followed by silence-quite a long one-so she shrugged it off and took her plate to the kitchen, being accompanied by the other men and their dishes before they all went about with their own lives.

From the kitchen, Falman and Riza could hear Breda and his superior fighting over the shower; the distant argument evoking soft chuckles from them. The opened window above the sink, which was too old and rusty to close, let in the strong smell of tobacco that emerged from Havoc's final cigarette for the day, together with Hayate's happy barks and Fuery's snickers. Around the house, hidden by the bushes, grasshoppers chirped and frogs croaked. It was not unusual during that time of the year, when rains poured almost non-stop, and they had all gotten used to the faint songs they sang.

The clattering of the dishes, the babble of soaped water traveling between plates and the distant yet peaceful sounds that hopped around the house placed a smile on Riza's lips. Everyone had reunited again, hopefully for once and for all, and on the very next morning, everything would go back to normal.

"Yo, Lieutenant." Riza looked up from her chore to see a tired pair of black eyes staring at her from the window. After giving Falman a light pat on the shoulder, Riza dried a few more dishes and excused herself to go outdoors and see what the Colonel was up to.

Once outside, a calm breeze greeted her, playing around with her golden tresses. Earlier, they were sitting on her shoulder, but to be more hygienic the woman had opted towards tying them up in a ponytail to wash the dishes. It was not a hairstyle she was particularly comfortable in as the strands tickled her nape, but putting it up in her famous hawk's tail was way too much work.

Riza made her way to the kitchen window, where Mustang fiddled with a lighter. "Careful not to set the house on fire," she warned, sitting down next to him on the old wooden floor with a sigh.

"What's wrong?" He questioned, his gaze fixed to the temporary flame.

"Nothing, I just thought you wanted to talk," she replied, her own eyes following the flicker of the fire. It was strange how such a tiny, innocent thing like that red light could cause destruction if not used with care. How it had caused destruction. How it was causing destruction. How it will cause destruction.

"We shouldn't have, right?" Roy continued, finally driving his gaze to his Lieutenant, who tilted her head in confusion. "The car," he clarified, well aware of the soldier in the kitchen behind them.

"Probably not," she opined, bringing one knee to her chest and scanning the man beside her. "You're a mess," she chuckled, realizing Roy was wearing the same clothes he bought in Surd.

"I could say the same about you. You'll be wearing those clothes after your shower, too, and probably tomorrow for work." Roy pointed out, brushing his bangs off his eye.

"Speaking of clothes, you were the one who changed my clothes on Friday, right?" She deadpanned, internally happy to have flustered him and caused him to chatter excuses. His most repetitive one was that he 'put the dress shirt on before removing her pants',' but Riza wasn't buying it. At least not outwardly.

"You should have asked for my consent first," she scolded, hugging her leg to keep herself balanced. She would say yes, obviously, Roy had seen all that before, but it was still wrong. What if she didn't say yes?

"It's not like I did anything," he argued, putting the lighter away and leaning back, shifting his weight onto his hands. "As I said, I put my shirt on you before removing your pants."

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You had slept in the rain. If you were able to do that you wouldn't be waking up for quite some time."

Not being able to form any defenses, Riza gave up and shrugged, untying her hair to free herself from the tickles. After glancing around to make sure there was no one around, she placed her hand over Roy's and leaned her head on his shoulder, his soothing warmth spreading from the points where they met. The woman could feel his pulse from his neck, the blood pumping slowly and quietly. That was what she liked about him; what made her comfortable around such man: the way he wouldn't panic whenever they made contact.

It was relieving to know that she could pleasantly rest on his shoulder without receiving too much warmth and breathe his smell without it being surpassed by sweat, and he seemed to like it too. The way their thoughts drifted around them and merged together which the play of their fingers made Riza feel at home. It reminded her of how much she had missed him during those two years and how much she needed his presence in order to feel truly at ease.

When rough steps left the house and Roy went in to take his shower, Riza was wrapped in a blanket of cold. She walked in herself and made her way to her room, where she planned to spend the rest of the night.

Once in the privacy of her bathroom, Riza shed herself of her clothes and put her hair up in a bun before turning on the sprinkler. She slowly walked in with her dirty clothes bundled up in one arm and soaked them in the warm water, making sure not to miss a spot. Hopefully, they would be dry by the next day.

The woman then proceeded to wash her body, ridding herself of the dirt and sweat she had accumulated for the past few days. The delicate drops traced the flow of her curves and around her legs, carefully rinsing the soap she had smeared onto her skin.

After being satisfied with her wash, Riza stepped onto the cold floor of the bathroom and skipped her way into the bedroom, sinking into the bed and closing her eyes. The rough towel scratched against her already scarred back, reminding her of the marking that ruined her skin. She still didn't know why, of all people, she allowed Roy Mustang to study them, but there were few regrets regarding that.

Yes, he had used her father's alchemy for murder, which was something she wished he hadn't done, but he was now using it for the good. 'Alchemist, be thou for the people,' didn't it go like that? Roy may have killed innocents and never be able to properly redeem himself for those actions, but he was now serving the people; helping them thrive. Just like he had helped her after the incident with her father.

It was all a mess, in the end. The 'conversation' Berthold wanted to have lasted for hours, sometimes in whispers sometimes in yelps, until finally, the girl collapsed into Roy's arms on his bedroom's threshold. She was going to tell him the outcome, but her brain turned off and the hug she gave him made her fall asleep. Carefully, he took her to her room, where a small folded paper flapped on the infamous black box.

Leaving Riza on her bed, Roy tiptoed to the paper and picked it up, reading its contents. "So it's all true?" he wondered, a glare wrinkling his face. "You're disgusting," he muttered, leaning off the empty window and throwing the note at the strong wind that tugged at his hair. "You're a disgusting bastard, you coward!"


End file.
